


Bellator Luminis

by istie



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angels, Demons, IDK spooky stuff, M/M, Past Ryan Bergara/Helen Pan, Past Shane Madej/Sara Rubin, Sacrifice, Skeptic Turned Believer, Slow Burn, writing my own Unsolved eps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:50:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13033458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istie/pseuds/istie
Summary: It all goes horribly, horribly wrong, because of course it does, and Shane makes a deal.





	1. Juramentum

**Author's Note:**

> I have fallen into the pit of these two as fantastically interesting characters. Whoops. I'm a huge fan of demon!Shane fics, as well as plain ol' Shane-can-see-ghosts fics, but I decided to go in a little bit of a different direction...
> 
> Warning: some minor gore in the first chapter. Rating may change as the fic progresses; I don't know for sure where this is headed.

"No, no, Ryan— Ryan, stay with me buddy, come on." Shane held his best friend in his arms, kneeling on the splintering floorboards, cradling his head in the crook of his elbow.

Ryan's eyes were still on his, though they were starting to drift. "Shane, I... I'm sorry, I didn't see the crack and... Then it was too late..."

"I know, I know buddy, it's not your fault, it was just an accident. Keep talking to me, stay with me, the ambulance is on its way, TJ's waiting for them at the end of the road, they're gonna be here soon. Keep talking to me. What did you see up there?" Ryan's eyes fluttered shut and Shane gripped his shoulder hard. "What did you see, Ryan?"

Ryan opened his eyes again and met Shane's, speaking again, not without effort, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "I saw... I saw a little girl, Shane... Four or five... Long brown braids... She was cute..." He laughed – or really, coughed, the thin copper pipe impaled through his stomach shaking as his diaphragm spasmed. "First full-body apparition... I've ever seen... and you're downstairs... and I fall through the floor." Another cough, blood spattering Shane's collar. 

Shane's stomach clenched. He forced his breathing to remain calm. "Just my luck, eh? Missed my greatest chance to mock the ever-living hell out of you, Bergara." Ryan began to tremble in his arms – going into shock, Shane guessed. "Buddy – baby – stay with me, Ryan, stay here, I swear if you die and then mock me into eternity by haunting me we will have _words_."

Ryan smiled gently, eyes crinkling. "Oh c'mon... big guy, don't you... think it... would be so... appropriate..."

"No I fucking don't, I'd much rather have your stupid self here to mock me for real, now quit being an idiot and stay with me." He glanced to the front door. Of course it had to be this place. Out in the middle of fucking nowhere, the riskiest house they'd ever done – Ryan had heard something and gone upstairs before Shane could convince him otherwise and then _crash_ , man down, Bergara through the floor with an ungodly scream and a piece of bent piping through his stomach and blood _everywhere_.

"Shane..." Ryan's voice brought him back, back down to the dark brown eyes which weren't quite focusing anymore. "Shane, she... she came downstairs, she's... She's smiling at me..."

Shane growled, deep in his throat. "No she's not, Ryan, there's no one there, your brain is playing tricks on you because you've lost a lot of blood. Stop paying attention to her and look at me."

His eyes were closing fast; Shane's jeans and shirt were soaked through with red. "Hey... little girl... what's your name..."

"Ryan," Shane said forcefully, "there's no one there, look at me." He put his face right in front of Ryan's, and immediately felt the back of his neck turn ice cold. Stress, he immediately thought, just adrenaline. Don't freak out, Madej. "Look. At. Me."

"Molly? That's... a nice... name..."

Shane could feel tears aching in the back of his throat. "Ryan... please. Please, stay with me." He leaned forward and touched his forehead to Ryan's, the tears stinging his eyes. "Don't go."

"Shane, I..." He felt Ryan's breath touch his cheek, then...

Then nothing.

The tears fell.

Shane pressed his forehead to Ryan's, rocking back and forth, his lips pressed tightly together. A litany of sorrow was running through his mind, behind his eyelids – _no, no, not him, anyone but him, it isn't fair, don't leave me, no, no, no no no._ Still rocking, the words became audible, whispered through lips unaware of their movement. "No, no, why you, why now, this isn't fair _—"_

He lifted his head, staring down at Ryan's glassy brown eyes. "I... I wanted to _protect_ you, Ryan, why'd you go upstairs without me?" His voice cracked, and he sobbed once, deeply, before clutching the smaller man close and keening, feeling his heart shatter, unwilling to accept his friend was gone but knowing it, deep inside.

He kept rocking back and forth, whimpering, until his weeping slowed and his breathing calmed, only hitching occasionally. The house was quiet, barely two minutes having passed, the ambulance still speeding along the road somewhere that wasn't here. Shane listened, hearing the wind in the trees outside and the creak of the old wood, hearing his own breath and heartbeat, hearing the silence from his best friend.

He opened his mouth, and though he didn't believe, Shane Madej let a prayer whisper over his lips.

"Take me instead."

He felt his heart skip a beat. No, not one... two... it had stopped.

He could no longer hear blood rushing in his ears. His breathing had stopped. He couldn't hear the wind outside any more, or the creaks of the house. He opened his eyes, and the light coming through the open door through the trees had frozen.

And there was someone standing in front of him.

Shane couldn't seem to focus his eyes on it. It seemed like a tall, androgynous humanoid at first, but then it flickered, and Shane thought he saw a pillar of fire, then a mess of interlocking rings, then what might have been an eyeball with several sets of wings, then back to the indistinct humanoid.

He tried to speak, but no sound came. He heard a voice then, deep but bright, incomprehensible, his mind slipping over the sounds it made before coalescing into —

**_DO NOT BE AFRAID._ **

Shane shuddered, transfixed, and still could not speak. He only stared, dumbly, at this being he could not comprehend.

**_HAIL, BELOVED ONE. THE ALMIGHTY IS WITH YOU._ **

Shane finally managed to whisper, "N-n...no shit."

**_YOU WISH TO NEGOTIATE._ **

If his blood had still been flowing, Shane was pretty sure it would have run cold. He barely nodded his head, whispering again, "Yes."

**_THE ONE WHO IS ABOVE ALL WILL HEAR YOUR TERMS._ **

He blinked. He felt Ryan's weight in his arms, and swallowed uselessly. "My friend. ...Let him live and take me instead. That's how these things work, right?"

A brief silence.

**_THIS WAS ALREADY AGREED, OR WE WOULD NOT BE HERE. WHAT WOULD YOU OFFER THE ONE WHO WAS, AND IS, AND IS TO COME?_ **

... apparently God was a bit of a legalist. Shane frowned. "I kinda thought my soul was the be-all, end-all option."

**_A CREATION CANNOT BE OFFERED TO ITS CREATOR. WHAT DO YOU OFFER IN GRATITUDE FOR THIS GIFT?_ **

He bit his lip, his mind racing. "I..." His own words slipped through his mind again. "I... I want to protect him. Let me protect him."

**_YOU WISH TO SERVE._ **

He felt chilled again, like a sodden, freezing cold cloak was draped over his shoulders. "Yes. I would protect my friend."

Another silence.

**_YOU WILL SERVE MORE THAN HE._ **

"I don't understand."

**_YOU WILL BE A DEFENDER. AN AVENGER. YOU WILL BRING LIGHT TO THE DARKNESS._ **

"Uh. Um. ...How." He thought he could feel himself trembling.

**_THE POWER OF THE MOST HIGH WILL BE GRANTED UNTO YOU. THE POWERS AND PRINCIPALITIES OF HELL WILL TREMBLE BEFORE YOU, AND YOU WILL DRIVE THEM OUT. YOU WILL SHELTER THE OUTCAST AND NOURISH THE DOWNTRODDEN. YOU WILL BE AN INSTRUMENT OF GOD._ **

Silence.

**_DO YOU ACCEPT THESE TERMS?_ **

Shane licked his lips. "Ryan comes back? Good as new?"

**_YES._ **

"And I... I do whatever the big guy upstairs wants?"

**_YES._ **

He swallowed. "I accept."

He felt warmth suffuse his limbs, chasing the chill away, and he realized both he and Ryan were surrounded by light. He still couldn't tear his eyes off the figure.

**_THE NAME ABOVE ALL NAMES HAS SEALED YOUR OATH. YOU WILL BE CALLED GOD IS GRACIOUS, DEFENDER OF HUMANKIND, BELOVED OF GOD._ **

The figure vanished – the light was gone, Shane felt his heart beat and heard the sounds of reality start again – and he realized the ... negotiation ... had occurred between one heartbeat and the next.

He could feel Ryan breathing against his chest. His heart leapt, and then immediately fell as he noticed the new figure in the room – a diminutive form standing just behind where the last figure had been, with long brown braids, a frilly dress, little black Mary Janes on its feet, and wide eyes and a wide smile filled with television static.

He swallowed again. If angels were real, then so were demons. 


	2. Amicus

Shane watched the demon silently. The angel had said Shane would be given the power of God, but it hadn't really ... explained anything. Played its cards pretty close to its chest, really.

He didn't dare look away. He wasn't sure why, there didn't seem to be anything keeping it from moving whether he looked at it or not. But he didn't know the first thing about demons. Up until about two minutes ago – two timeless minutes ago – he didn't think they existed. He opened his mouth to speak, and realized he had no idea what to say. It was pretty clearly looking at him and could tell he could see it. It had probably seen the angel too and knew exactly what was going on – probably better than he did, in fact.

He tried to speak again, swallowing the nerves: " ... I command you to leave."

It tilted its head, the picture of an adorable little girl except for the triple maw of white noise.

He cleared his throat and spoke louder. "I command you to leave this place and never return!"

The flickering smile grew into a grin, too wide, too gaping, and then it looked up at the ceiling and _laughed_. The sound was awful – a lot like the spirit box, actually, maybe he hadn't been far off in calling it "goddamned".

His mind raced. How to banish a demon. How many horror movies had he watched? A fair few. Some even with Ryan.

_Ryan._

He couldn't stop himself – he looked down. Ryan was out cold, it looked like: his eyes had closed, he was breathing, the pipe was still sticking through his abdomen and he was still bleeding but ... he was definitely alive. Ryan was alive, and it was Shane's job to protect him from ... from _Molly_. He felt the warmth run through him again, and he looked back up—

Only to find the face of the little demon girl inches from his, grinning. Ah. So _that's_ why you didn't look away.

He didn't flinch. He straightened his back and stared the _thing_ down, glaring daggers at it. He thought he saw the static pause in its flickering briefly, almost like hesitation. _Ah-ha,_ he thought, _I've got you._ He drew in a deep breath, focused all his energy on the abyss staring back into him, and spoke.

" _Molly..."_ he whispered, " _... **leave this place and never return.**_ "

The static noise got louder, the thing still laughing at him — and then it just disappeared.

—-

TJ, down the road and around the bend, well out of sight of the little house, felt a slight, strange pressure move past him – like wind, but going the wrong direction. He would have thought it odd, except at that same moment the ambulance came around the corner. He flagged them down, pointing up the drive, then sighed heavily, stuck his hands in his pockets, and followed them back along the path. 

* * *

Shane startled awake, inhaling sharply, his vision blurry. He twisted his neck around until it cracked in one direction, then the other, screwed his eyes shut then opened them again, getting his bearings. He was sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair, his legs awkwardly bent in front of him because there just wasn't enough legroom between him and the ...

And the hospital bed. Yes. That was where he was. He rubbed his face with his hands, his eyes sandy from his contacts being in too long, his mouth dry, all his limbs aching with fatigue. He leaned back in the chair, twitched the blind over the window by his left shoulder, and was met with searing sunlight. He winced, closed his eyes against it, and dropped the blind again, sinking back into the comfortable half-light.

He sighed softly, letting his chin drop to his chest and his hands into his lap. He was still covered in blood, now dried – he hadn't had a chance to change yet: he'd sent Ryan with the paramedics and then helped TJ pack up and leave the house, but he'd dropped TJ off at the hotel and gone straight to the hospital while TJ got on the horn with BuzzFeed. By the time he'd gotten there, Ryan had already gone into surgery to remove the pipe and repair as much as possible, so he'd spent what felt like endless hours in the OR waiting room – pacing, then flipping through outdated magazines, then wishing he knew how to knit because there was a communal knitting project in the corner and he was _just bored enough_ , then scrolling through his phone – Twitter, Facebook, Instagram ... He didn't post anything, because it would be Ryan's call how much would go public and when, but he distracted himself by watching a couple Try Guys videos, before an Unsolved video came up on autoplay and he hit the off button and put the phone down. After that he'd gone back to pacing.

He'd ended up napping briefly on some of the seats – it was a fairly empty hospital, being the middle of the night and also not a particularly large city, so Shane was the only one in the room – but he couldn't get any real rest, twitching to look at the door every time he heard footsteps. He'd just about started crying again when he realized that now _he_ was the one freaking out over every little sound.

After far too many hours – at least twelve, he'd lost count – a nurse with deep bags under her eyes but a beatific smile had come in and told him that Ryan was out of danger, would make a full recovery with time and care, and that as Shane was his closest liaison in the state, he would be permitted to visit – they couldn't tell him any medical information until Ryan woke up and okayed it, because he wasn't family, but—

Shane had cut her off there, saying that was fine and he understood, and could he please see Ryan now. The nurse had smiled her brilliant smile again, nodded, and led him to the little room where Ryan was sleeping peacefully on a hospital bed, tucked in expertly, breathing softly. And Shane had sat down heavily into the chair beside the bed, staring at Ryan's slack-jawed face, unable to process again. The nurse had quietly left them, pulling the door almost shut, and Shane had stared at Ryan until, he assumed, he'd fallen asleep.

Which brought him to the here and now. 

He'd made a deal. His soul for Ryan's. Except ... he seemed to have kept his soul, as far as he could tell – whatever a soul was anyway – and now he was ... some sort of demon hunter. And Ryan would live to see the morn, if the angel had been telling the truth — which he figured angels were probably pretty likely to do.

He did _not_ understand what he'd just gotten himself into, but if it kept Ryan Steven Bergara alive, Shane would do it. 

This was not a train of thought he was familiar with. This was very new. He'd always _liked_ the little guy, been great friends with him, loved bouncing ideas off him and snarking around with him and shooting silly videos with him. They'd shared a few movie nights as friends, both lovers of terrible B-list horror movies and increasingly terrifying popcorn seasonings. (Working at BuzzFeed, _nothing_ tasted weird anymore.) They'd even gone camping together once, when they'd both ended up with a long weekend and no other plans. 

But the pain he'd felt when he'd realized Ryan was going to die had been unlike anything Shane had ever felt before. The closest parallel he could draw was when he and Sara had broken up – a relatively amicable split, in hindsight, but at the time he'd been a mess. Still was, sometimes, if he thought about it too hard, so he tried not to. He suspected that would eventually come back to bite him in the ass – Shane was nothing if not a realist.

Well, up until yesterday. However many hours ago that was. He wasn't sure he could call himself a realist now. ... Though, he reasoned, if angels and demons were in fact real, and he seemed to have concrete proof of this – assuming he hadn't gone into some sort of shock himself, brought on by the trauma of Ryan's injury, and had hallucinated the whole thing.

"Oh don't worry, dear, you aren't going crazy." A voice broke into his thoughts, and Shane snapped his head up. An older woman, a nurse, was standing across the room from him, on the other side of the bed. She was short and plump and looked like the epitome of a kindly grandma, with tight silvery curls bunched up under her nurse's cap and a million smile lines etched into her face. "We're quite real," she continued, pulling up another chair from a corner. She sat down, facing him, and crossed one leg over the other, leaning forward a bit. "I imagine you have a lot of questions."

Shane blinked. "Um, yes," he began, "first of all, I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything, so how—"

She winced. "Ooh, sorry about that. Never been my strong point, knowing what's out loud and what's not. That explains why you startled so when I interrupted you." She reached forward and patted his knee. "Can't promise I won't do it again, but I'll do my best."

He stared at her hand. It felt completely solid, and kind of cold, like his own grandma's hand. He looked back up at her. "I can see you. I can _feel_ you."

She frowned a little, looking quite puzzled. "Well of course you can."

He frowned back. "I ... I couldn't really see the other guy."

"Oh!" She chuckled. "I understand now. We haven't all quite gotten the hang of physical manifestation, you see. I'm not good at figuring out if someone's talking or thinking, some of us aren't great at putting ourselves into shapes visible to the human eye. And given you probably talked to Jerahmeel or Dumah – or maybe Samael, even! – well, they don't spend much time with you folks, so it's not really too much of a surprise there. Sorry if you got a scare. They can be intimidating folk."

Shane felt like his mind was crumbling. "I don't think I understood a solid ninety to ninety five percent of what you just said." He took a deep breath, looked at his hands, then looked at Ryan. "Can we start this conversation over?"

"Certainly, dearie," came the voice from his right, and he could hear the gentle smile even if he couldn't see it. "I'll start us off on the right foot this time." She cleared her throat, then said, "Hail, beloved one. The Almighty is with you."

He looked back at her. She didn't look any different. He wasn't sure why he'd expected her to. "Why do you call me that? The ... other guy did too."

"Beloved one? Because it's your name."

He shook his head. "No, my name is Shane. Shane Madej."

"Yes – beloved one." She looked extraordinarily puzzled, and then looked as if a light bulb had gone off. "That damned language barrier again. Everything's translated for you, you see, when you speak to one of us. Especially if we don't have much cause to be speaking English, or whatever tongue you've got these days! Things tend to get a bit over-translated, especially names." She pursed her lips, focusing on something, and when she spoke again Shane felt the same strange sliding that he'd felt when he'd heard the angel speak first, like his mind couldn't grasp the syllables before they solidified into something real. "Your name is beloved of God — _Madej._ I believe in earthly tongues it comes from the Polish form of _Amadeus_."

"Huh. Call me a monkey's uncle, that actually makes sense."

She smiled. "Things usually do, when you get down to it."

"I still don't know who you are. Or the other names you mentioned."

She chuckled. "Of course. You can call me Chaverim, if you really want a name. I don't use one much, I mostly just pop in and out where I'm needed and people are generally too flustered to really remember me. The others I mentioned were guesses at who might have talked to you, given what you did. Jerahmeel, Dumah, and Samael are all folks who work with bringing souls over the great divide. Though ... " She paused. "You made quite the deal. And given our Creator's capacity for forethought, well, you might have been talking to Raquel."

Shane shook his head. "You've lost me, Chaverim."

"Hm. That's alright. Let's start from the top, it's as good a place as any." She settled into her chair, leaning back. "You made a deal for your friend's continued existence on the earthly plane. Not a hard thing for the Almighty to grant, but it isn't usually done. To everything there is a season, et cetera, et cetera. But something about you got some attention – though I cannot pretend to know the mind of God." She waved a hand, dismissively. "The end result is that you now serve the Creator in a far more ... _direct_ capacity than most humans could ever have an inkling of." 

"And Raquel?"

Chaverim's wrinkled face grew serious. "Raquel is the archangel of justice, vengeance, redemption, and speech. A bit like the head of the divine police force. Hardly a common occurrence for an angel of their stature to make an appearance on the mortal plane. Like I said, something about you has garnered a lot of attention. I'm not in the loop enough to know, but I suspect you'll find out in due course."

Shane curved in on himself, his elbows on his thighs, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers, watching the elderly-looking angel over them. "Alright. That, I can follow. Why are _you_ here?"

She smiled again. "I've been hanging around this little city for a long time, helping folks in little ways. I like it here. When you had your little run-in with divinity, I couldn't help but take notice. And then you showed up right in my stomping grounds, I heard you muttering to yourself, and I thought you might like a helping hand."

"Hm. ...Thank you." He was quiet for a moment, then looked back over at Ryan. "Will he be okay?"

She followed his gaze. "Oh yes. Raquel – if that's who you met – probably gave your friend a little extra boost, and sped the ambulance on its way. We usually try to keep the really flashy miracles on the rare side, once every century or two if we can manage it. Otherwise things tend to get a little messy. He'll be fine – he'll heal at a normal human pace, but there shouldn't be any complications – or any mishaps – as long as you hold up your end of the bargain."

He looked back at her. "Mind elaborating?"

She met his gaze again, and this time it felt like hard steel. "You've landed yourself a serious job. You are well-named for it, and you have bravery, determination, and wit in spades – but this is no joke. You're a beacon now, Shane Madej." His mind still slipped over the suddenly strange syllables of his name on her tongue. "You swore to protect him—" she tilted her head towards Ryan— "and you agreed to serve the Almighty in turn. Before, you were blips on the astral scale. Now, both of you are touched – your friend, blessed, and you, burdened. Choosing to cast out demons is a dangerous career move for the both of you: you'll have to find a way to stay with him, if you want him to have any hope of remaining safe." 

He let out a long, slow breath. "What do I do?"

Her eyes hardened again, now flinty. "I'd start by _actually_ banishing little Molly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I likely won't go into Shane/Sara much unless it becomes plot-relevant, but for now - that was a thing, they were happy and great together, then something happened.


	3. Ave

Shane frowned. It felt like he'd been doing a lot of frowning lately, and a lot of not understanding things. It really wasn't his favourite way to be. "What do you mean?" he asked Chaverim. "I told her – it – to leave. It left."

The grandmotherly angel lifted her index finger and raised her eyebrows. "Yes, you told Molly to leave, and it left. But where did it go?"

He thought for a moment, turning away from her slightly and staring at the leg of Ryan's hospital bed, before replying. "I... I don't know. I assumed to... to hell, I guess. But I didn't tell it to go anywhere in particular." He looked back up at her, an amused smirk on his face. "My God, you folks really _are_ legalists, aren't you? So specific."

Chaverim smiled. "When you deal almost exclusively in words, that tends to happen."

He quirked an eyebrow up. "'Exclusively in words'? So, like, no great fiery swords? That's a little disappointing."

She laughed. "Oh, weaponry exists, but it requires speaking it into being, and we usually don't bother. Honestly, there isn't usually much need."

"Demons are that easy to kill, eh?"

Her gaze hardened immediately. "For a greater angel, perhaps. A being fully replete with the grace and power of the Most High. For you? No. No, demons are not easy to kill. To banish, yes, easy enough, if you know what you're doing. But to _kill?_ I wouldn't recommend it, young one."

Shane lifted his hands to placate her. "Okay, okay, sorry. I really don't get how all this works. Up until last night I didn't believe any of this existed, I'm still... trying to get my bearings." He took a breath and let it out. "So. I don't kill demons. I banish them. And I take it you don't do that with a sword."

Her expression softened again. "No, you do not. If you ever need a sword... well, I hope to the Almighty you won't. Banishing a demon requires only the correct invocation of three. First, you need—"

"Their name, right? Molly just laughed at me when I tried to banish it without its name."

"Yes. Their name is crucial. Otherwise, they can simply ignore you. Second, you need the power of the Almighty."

"I've got that now, though. The other guy said I did."

"Well – you have the capacity, now. You have been granted a channeling of divinity. Most mortals only have the seed of their soul. Enough, perhaps, in times of great peril, but exhausting to draw upon even _if_ you know how. Still, the capacity is not enough. You must learn to harness and wield that divinity."

"I'm listening."

"Tell me – what did you feel, when you told Molly to leave, and it left?"

Shane kept the angel's gaze as he thought back. "... I felt warm again, like I did when the other angel said the oath had been sealed."

"Where did that come from? And what did you do with it?" Chaverim was leaning forward slightly, as if willing him to find the answers.

He closed his eyes, remembering. It felt so long ago now. "I focused on Molly... on the static inside it... and I pushed it. I pushed it away, I willed it away. I knew it would work because I felt it hesitate, when I felt the warmth." He touched his arm unconsciously, where Ryan's head had been. "And it came from... it came when I thought about what I had to do."

He felt Chaverim place her cool hand over his. "What was that?"

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. "I said I'd protect him." He looked over to the olive-skinned man still sleeping in the bed. "I said I'd protect Ryan."

Her grip on his hand tightened slightly. "Good." He looked back at her. "You know what you are here for. You are here to protect and to save. You are not here to seek out and destroy. You are here to defend."

Shane felt a little short of breath. This was getting overwhelming again, and he had a feeling it was really only just beginning. "You said there were three things. So far I've got two – purpose, and a name. What's missing?"

Chaverim exhaled the barest huff of a laugh. "Specificity. Like you said – we're all legalists, on both sides. You need to say the right things. Your best bet, I'd say, is a direct invocation of the Almighty – and a specific direction of banishment."

Shane couldn't help it – he started to chuckle. "So you're saying the old ' _back to the pits of hell from whence you came, demon, the power of Christ compels you!'_ isn't actually all that far off? Horror movies actually got something _right?"_

She smiled. "It came from somewhere, you know. You can get even more direct, though." She paused a second to think. "Something like... _In the name of the Most High God, I banish you, insert-name-here, to the depths of hell, never to return to this mortal plane!"_ Energy pulsed through the room, and Shane shuddered. "See?" she said, "even you can tell that would have worked."

"Yeah," he breathed, "no kidding. That was intense." He rubbed at his arm. "So that's it? That's all I need? And I just... take the rest as it comes? What if something's too big for me?"

Chaverim gave him a bit of a look. "Surely you can figure that one out. You're a smart young man. You've got a direct line to the divine plane, so use it."

"Oh." He felt a bit stupid. "Right. I guess praying's a thing I do now."

"I'd hope so." The sound of shifting fabric from beside them brought both their gazes over. Ryan was stirring. Chaverim grasped Shane's hand. "I had better leave you, I think. He's waking."

Shane felt a needle of fear shoot through him. "But – I have _so_ many more questions."

She rose from her chair, still holding his hand. "I know, young one – beloved one. Do not be afraid. Your friend does not know we exist, so I must go."

"But he believes!" He felt like he was grasping at straws. He didn't know why Chaverim leaving was making him panic, but it sure was. "Why can't he see you?"

"Oh, Shane." Her voice on his name was like the whisper of wind in a field of wheat. "When there is proof, faith is no longer faith. Ryan—" wind in wet spring leaves— " _believes_. You asked that he be returned: let him be returned. Allow him to change as God wills it."

He swallowed. "Will I ever see you again?"

She laughed softly. "Hm. It's possible. I don't stray from here much anymore, but if you're ever in town feel free to say hello."

Ryan was definitely waking up – turning in his sheets, beginning to make little sounds. Chaverim let go of Shane's hand, and moved to the door. Just before she left the room, Shane spoke one last time. "How do I find Molly?"

Chaverim looked over her shoulder, then back out the door, before replying. "I suspect it will find you, beloved one." And then she was gone, another bookend, another scene complete.

His life was completely insane right now.

"...Shane?" came a raspy voice from his left. He looked over at the bed, finding Ryan's chocolate-brown eyes half-open and looking blearily in his general direction.

He scooched his chair closer to the bed, and almost put his hand up on the mattress to place it on Ryan's before thinking better of it, and just putting his hands in his own lap. "Hey, buddy. How ya feelin'?"

Ryan closed his eyes again. "Like hell," he responded.

Shane winced. _Bit on the nose, there, Bergara,_ he thought. "Yeah? Not surprised. Do you remember—"

"What happened?" Ryan took a long breath, and grimaced. "A bit. I remember going upstairs, and then... falling through the floor? I remember being back downstairs, and everything hurt, it hurt to breathe. I remember..."

He opened his eyes, fully, and looked straight at Shane, which made Shane's heart skip a beat _. Remember what, Ryan?_ he thought.

"I remember... you talking to me. You said if I died and haunted you, you'd never let me hear the end of it."

Shane tried to laugh, but no sound really came out, just sort of a huff of air. "Yeah, well. That'd be pretty dumb, Ryan. I know you're all about getting proof of ghosts and all, but you don't have to _die_ to—" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "— to get proof. Little bit of overkill there, buddy."

Ryan just watched him for a few seconds. Shane tried to keep his breathing steady. This wasn't weird, right? Friends could absolutely get broken up over their friends almost dying. That was what was known as _normal_ human behaviour. He swallowed hard, willing himself to meet Ryan's gaze until Ryan spoke again. "Yeah... Yeah, I guess it would be. I guess I... I thought I remembered..." He stopped, frowned, looking at Shane like he'd just seen him. "What's wrong with your clothes?"

Shane looked down at himself. Fuck. He'd completely forgotten he needed to change. Why nobody had bothered him about it yet, he had no idea. He looked back up. "Ryan, you had a piece of copper pipe stuck through your middle. There was kind of a lot of blood."

"Oh." Ryan blinked. "But... did I _fall_ on you or something? Are _you_ okay?"

 _Question of the fucking day,_ Shane thought drily. "I'm fine. You didn't fall on me," he replied. "I was halfway up the stairs behind you when I heard the crash."

"So then... how the hell did you get so covered in blood?"

Ryan looked genuinely perplexed. Shane realized with a jolt that Ryan didn't remember Shane holding him. His brain probably hadn't been able to process most physical sensations, what with the pain. "Um," he said, rather stupidly. What did you say to that? _I cradled you while you were dying?_ Was that weird? That was probably weird. ... That was _definitely_ weird. He wasn't going to say that. No way was he going to—

"Shane, did you... _hold_ me?"

Welp. There goes _that_ plan, Madej. Real smooth.

"...Yeah, I did." He could feel the back of his neck heating up. "You were... _bad_ , and I was... trying to get you to stay with me, and..." _And if you were going to die, I didn't want you to die alone, and I wanted to hold you so badly and **what the fuck is going on.**_

"Oh. Um. ...Thanks," Ryan said, in a small soft voice, clearly not sure what to say. _That makes two of us, then,_ Shane thought, _the package fucking deal._

"Yeah, well...wasn't gonna let my best buddy bleed out on the floor of a creepy-ass totally-not-haunted house all by his lonesome. That'd just be rude."

A few seconds passed in silence, neither of them breaking eye contact with the other. Finally, Ryan spoke, still in that little, _vulnerable_ voice, which did funny things to Shane's stomach, and he said, "Yeah, I... I guess it would. Thanks for... for saving my life, I guess."

 _You don't know the half of it,_ Shane thought.


	4. Cogitationes Imbrem

"...Well," he deflected, avoiding Ryan's eyes and forcing a short laugh, "I mean, I didn't really do much. The paramedics really did—"

"Shut up, Shane." The old familiar phrase was just as tinged in friendly ribbing as it ever was. "You were there. That counts for something. Thank you."

Shane forced himself to meet Ryan's gaze. One corner of his mouth – the same corner that had dripped with blood when he'd spoken hours before— _no, not thinking about that._ One corner of his mouth was quirked up in a little smile. Shane smiled back a little. "You're welcome, then... you big sap."

Ryan wheezed, then winced and closed his eyes, his hand coming to his stomach. "Oh god, don't make me laugh. Ow." 

Shane shot up immediately, putting a hand on the mattress, looking for the call button. "Are you okay? Do you need a nurse? I can go get one—" He stopped, brought up short by Ryan's hand on top of his.

The younger man was squeezing his eyes and mouth shut, trying not to laugh again. "Buddy. I'm fine. Just got some stitches down there, you know. Relax." 

Shane sat back down sheepishly, feeling unexplainable tears rising in the back of his throat. "Sorry." He looked away, at some random point on a wall where there happened to be a hand sanitizer dispenser. Fascinating. "Um. Guess I'm just really tired."

Ryan wasn't letting go of his hand. The tears were prickling Shane's eyelids now and he still couldn't figure out why they were even there. "...How long have you been up?" Ryan asked.

Shane thought. They'd gotten to the shoot an hour or so before dusk, to set up – a little before six. They'd started shooting the intro after the sun had set, and had finished around eight o'clock. They'd done the main level and the basement first, since they were the most structurally sound and they figured they'd get the best footage, and had finished around nine-thirty. Ryan had fallen through the floor sometime between then and ten o'clock. He and TJ had gotten to the hotel around eleven, Shane had gotten to the hospital just before midnight, he'd spent twelve or so hours in the OR waiting room, then had fallen asleep for a little bit...

He looked at the clock on the wall, belatedly realizing he hadn't really needed to go over the entire timeline just to figure out how long he'd been awake. It was twenty after three. He'd had to get up at six AM the day of the shoot, so... "Thirty-three hours, minus some napping."

" _Jesus_." Ryan shook his head. "Have you even eaten since dinner last night?"

"I attempted a granola bar from the vending machine in the OR waiting room, but it was not worth the effort." He tried to crack a smile. The tears were receding, it seemed, and he was grateful. Humour, he could do. A little self-deprecation, that he was good at. And getting in a good jab at Ryan would make everything normal, right? "I was waiting to steal your lunch, to tell you the truth, but I guess they don't bring lunch to unconscious surgery recovery patients."

Ryan let out the slowest, most controlled wheeze Shane had ever heard. "Dammit Shane...why you gotta be funny, eh? You're the worst."

Shane grinned. "You wouldn't have me any other way."

Ryan smiled back, gripped Shane's hand – which he had still been holding, and which Shane had somehow forgotten about until just now, when he most definitely noticed it again – and then let it go. "Not a fucking chance. Now get the hell out of here and go shower and eat. Eat something wildly carb-loaded and greasy and then tell me all about it later, okay?"

Shane stood up slowly, stretching his arms over his head and cracking his back. "Yeah, okay, you're right. I'll check in with TJ and see what's happened back home, come back and let you know."

Ryan grinned up at him. "Sounds like a plan. I'll be here."

"You better be," Shane replied, raising an eyebrow at him. "I'd hate to get back and hear you've hit the road without me."

Ryan exhaled another soft laugh and relaxed back against his pillows. "No worries there, man. I think you'll be doing the driving for a bit." 

* * *

When Shane got to the hotel, he found TJ sitting at the little desk in the room, phone clamped between his shoulder and his ear, typing furiously.

"Yeah, I know, I know this throws the schedule out of whack. ... No, I didn't get anything else out of the doctors, it was pulling teeth to get them to even tell me he was out of surgery. ... Until he wakes up we have no family members here to get information, we're just gonna have to wait. ... They'll come up with something. Hell, I'm pretty sure Ryan would do Unsolved in a fucking wheelchair if he has to. Or we do desk cases until he's okay to travel again. It will be fine, don't—" The door closed behind Shane, louder than he meant it to, and TJ craned his neck around to see. "Oh, Shane's here. I'll call you back ASAP okay? Thanks. Yes. _Yes_. Bye." He grabbed the phone and hung up before turning fully to Shane. "Hey man. Everything okay?"

Shane sat down heavily on the end of one of the beds. "I guess?" For some reason, this conversation felt the most surreal of anything that had happened since the night before. "I mean – Ryan woke up, he's doing okay."

"That's good," TJ said. "That's really good. How are _you,_ though? You look pretty rough."

Shane rubbed his palms over his eyes, suddenly very conscious of the fact that he'd had contacts in for eighteen hours and every part of him ached with fatigue. "I think I've been running on adrenaline since ten o'clock last night, to be honest with you. I dunno if I look worse than I feel, or the other way around."

"You looked in a mirror lately?"

He snorted. "That bad, eh?"

"Honestly, if I hadn't seen what had happened last night, I'd think _you_ were the one who had a near-death experience." TJ sounded like he couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or be concerned. Shane knew where he was coming from. "Have a shower and toss those clothes. I'll order takeout. Any requests?"

Shane stood up again and headed for the washroom. "Don't care. Pizza? Something with way more calories than is wise."

"On it." TJ turned back to his laptop, and Shane closed the door to the washroom. 

Once inside, he faced the mirror and gave himself a once-over. He did indeed look like hell: most of his previously white button-down was stained dark red – his one arm and most of the front completely covered – and there was no small amount spattered over his collar and the still-white shoulder. His jeans were also a write-off, from the waist down to his knees totally dark. He still had blood on his face and neck, even, and combined with his thousand-yard stare, his overtired pallor, and the insanity that was his hair, he _really_ understood the truly hilarious "Shane Madej is a serial killer" meme. For no reason he could really fathom, he pulled his phone out of his breast pocket and snapped a shot of himself in the mirror, then put the phone down beside the sink and stripped, tossing his clothes by the door. He was unsurprised to find that much of his clothing stuck to his skin when he tried to pull it off, the blood having soaked right through and dried on him. In fact, once he'd gotten entirely undressed, he could still see the clear outline of the blood stains. 

Why was he so calm? Was it just fatigue? Was he finally going into shock himself? He didn't know. He took his contacts out and chucked them in the wastebasket, his eyes watering in relief, and then he started the shower, climbing in and just standing in the hot stream, watching the water turn from clear to brown as the blood started washing off, then lighter and lighter until it was back to clear again. 

He was exhausted. He was confused. He grabbed a tiny little hotel shampoo bottle and emptied the whole thing onto his head, scrubbing at his scalp. He couldn't tell Ryan what had happened. He would have to go on as if nothing had changed. They'd keep doing Unsolved, once Ryan was back on his feet. And, presumably, if there were demons around, he'd have to banish them. Without Ryan or any of the crew noticing, or anything getting caught on camera.

He stuck his head under the water and closed his eyes. He wondered if he'd actually hear things in the stupid EVPs and spirit box now, or if those were still bullshit and he'd just be hearing and seeing the real thing. He wouldn't be able to tell anyone, or the show would stop. There wouldn't be any point. The skeptic no longer a skeptic? That won't get views. They'd stop sending them out. Might even reassign them. ... They might reassign _him_. Get Ryan a new skeptic host, send him out to all these places _without Shane there—_

He gasped for breath, pulling himself out of the stream of water, leaning against the cold tile, watching droplets fall from his hair. That couldn't happen. He couldn't let Unsolved be jeopardized – if he and Ryan got separated, Shane couldn't protect him. And Chaverim had said that Ryan was just as marked as he was, now, so what if—

Shane could feel his breath speeding up, feel the tension growing between his shoulder blades, feel the tears gathering in his throat again. He was starting to panic. This was going to be impossible. There was no way nothing would get caught on camera. He had no idea what he was doing. How the hell was he going to keep this from Ryan? What if they went back to somewhere like Molly's house, or the Sallie house, or Bobby Mackey's, and Shane had to banish something? How would he hide it? What if he _didn't_ , and Ryan got hurt _again_ , Shane was pretty sure you couldn't make a deal with God twice so what if he died for real this time—

He shifted, putting his back against the wall, and stared at the shower curtain. The terrible light-blue paisley pattern began to shift in front of his eyes, swirling into demonic faces, Molly's face, laughing at him, laughing, laughing, _laughing_ —

He sank down onto the edge of the bathtub, and the tears came again, his chest heaving. He was scared, _terrified_ , he knew he was hallucinating because of the fatigue and shock but what if he wasn't— he didn't know what he was doing, he was going to fail, everything was going to fall apart, he was going to lose Ryan, _why did Ryan matter so much all of a sudden—_

A sharp knock on the door broke the shower curtain's laughter into perfectly still paisley swirls, and Shane could hear TJ vaguely through the noise of the water. He thought he caught the word "pizza". 

Either that was the fastest pizza in town, or Shane had been in there longer than he'd thought. He reached over and turned the water off, falling into a silence both merciful and awful. He stood up, pushed the shower curtain aside, had a brief moment of panic when he caught sight of himself in the mirror before he remembered that it was a mirror and therefore _him_ and not a demon, grabbed a towel and dried off. 

When he stepped out of the washroom a minute later, towel wrapped around his waist, he was greeted with the sharp scent of tomato sauce and fresh bread. "You were in there a while," TJ said, after swallowing a mouthful of pizza. "You alright?"

Shane grabbed a slice of pepperoni from the box on his way by, heading for his duffel on the other side of the room. "Yeah, man," he lied, "I'm fine." 


	5. Somnium

"So,” Shane said, polishing off another slice of pizza, "what's the word from home?"

TJ spun in his chair and stopped facing Shane. "About what you'd expect. Worried about Ryan, worried about the effect on the show. HR sent along some insurance forms. As soon as we have more information from the hospital things will get a little more solidified."

Shane swallowed the last bite of pizza. "For sure. I doubt Ryan's going to want to sit on his ass and do nothing. He'll probably want to get back to shooting as fast as he can."

"Yeah, that wouldn't surprise me,” TJ replied. "Let's hope the doctors say he can at least go back to work... Even if we have to do desk cases, it'll be better than nothing."

"Yeah.” Shane frowned. He suspected Ryan might not be content with desk cases – he'd want to prove he was better as soon as possible. It would probably be easier to protect him in Ghoul HQ, though. He sighed.

"You should get some sleep,” TJ said, cutting into his thoughts. "Unless you managed to get a full night's sleep at the hospital, I bet you're exhausted."

Shane kept frowning. "I told Ryan I'd come back and tell him how things were going back home. And maybe he'll know more about his prognosis.” _And I've already been away too long,_ he thought, _I can't protect him from here._

"Dude,” TJ laughed, "I'm pretty sure it's okay if you take a _nap._ Ryan's not going anywhere. If something happens I'll wake you up."

Shane couldn't argue. It would look weird, and he _was_ exhausted. He couldn't very well do his job on no sleep. "Yeah, okay,” he finally said. "I'll take a nap."

"Good. I'm gonna go out and do some work at a Starbucks, let you sleep. I have my phone.” TJ closed his laptop and put it in his messenger bag, stood up, grabbed his coat, and headed out the door.

"Okay,” Shane said, "see you later, man.” The door closed behind TJ and Shane fell back on the bed with a heavy sigh. He was asleep in seconds.

* * *

He was back at the house in the woods, standing outside, watching the open door. He walked up the porch stairs and stood in the doorway, seeing himself in the middle of the living room floor, Ryan's motionless body cradled in his arms, the blood on his white shirt still bright red.

He looked over, and saw Molly standing across from him – only it wasn't looking at him in the middle of the room, it was looking straight at him in the doorway.

The sound of its laughter – the spirit box, amplified and distorted – filled his mind. He glared at it. "I know this is a dream,” he said, "I'm not stupid."

"Is it?” Molly asked, its voice crackling, "Can you be sure?” Shane didn't reply. "You can't. You let me go. You're a terrible demon hunter, _beloved one.”_ Disdain dripped from its voice, and it laughed again. "Are you too soft? Are you _afraid?_ Afraid of a sweet little girl with pigtails?"

It stepped closer. "You are, aren't you. You have no idea where I am, whether I want to hurt you – or your friend – or...how much damage I can do.” It grinned, so big it split the little face in two. "You're scared of me. And you fucked up, and don't know how to fix it."

Molly was right in front of him now, barely coming up to his waist. And then it rose into the air, rising until it was eye-level with him. "You're going to fail him. You're going to fail him, and yourself, and the one you serve. You're going to fail, and I'll be there to see you disgraced. I will drag you down to hell _myself_ , and it will be _such_ a pleasure, beloved one. Such. A. Pleasure."

Shane couldn't speak. He felt none of the warmth, none of the confidence. He felt his mouth dry, his tongue sandy, his heart pounding, his mind frozen.

Molly leaned in, its face almost touching his. "But where's the fun in winning so easily? I'll give you one chance – _one -_ to find me. See if you can get it right this time. And if not... not only will you fail, but I'll get your friend first."

Shane couldn't breathe.

"...Good luck."

He woke up in a cold sweat, his clothes sticking to him, tangled in the sheets. He flung them off, nearly falling out of the bed, and scrambled for his glasses only to find them still on his face. He hit the floor, looking around the room, gasping for breath.

It was dark. He glanced at the hotel alarm clock. 9.37 pm. He looked over at the other bed – TJ was sound asleep. Thank God the man wasn't a light sleeper.

He stepped into his sneakers and grabbed his coat – and his wallet and Ryan's car keys – on the way out the door.

He was driving in seconds, speeding through the quiet roads, headed for the woodland road in a panic. That had to have been real. Molly was at the house waiting for him, waiting for him to challenge it, to see if he could do his job—

Wait. Why the hell would it be at the house? He'd told it to leave there and never return. And it had said if he failed, it would take Ryan first...

He swung the car around, tires spinning on the gravel road, and screeched back into town. Please, please God, let him not be too late.

He slammed on the brakes in the hospital parking lot, tore the keys from the ignition, slammed the door, and sprinted to the doors. He expected them not to open – it was well past visiting hours, they didn't know he was coming, he wasn't family – but they slid open, and he thanked his lucky stars...or maybe Chaverim.

He ran as fast as he could down the deserted corridors, making no attempt to be quiet – he didn't have time. He just kept praying, murmuring on his short, panting breaths, "Please God, please, let me get there in time, let me at least try to do this right once, please please please..."

He skidded to a halt at Ryan's door, which was very slightly ajar, and his brain hit a snag. _What if he was awake?_ He couldn't banish Molly if Ryan could see it happening— but if Molly was already attacking him, the jig was up anyway, his reason chimed in.

No point in waiting, then, but still reason to be quiet. He hadn't heard Ryan question the loud running outside his door – no inquiring "hello?” – so either he was asleep, or... Molly already had him.

He pushed the door open as silently as he could, and thanked the janitors for keeping the hinges well-oiled. He stepped into the room, balancing his weight carefully on one foot, then the other. The curtain was drawn around Ryan's bed, but not all the way. He crept in, angling himself so his back stayed to the wall, facing inward. He rounded the corner of the curtain, and saw...

Molly, standing beside Ryan's bed, one hand on his. He was fast asleep...or dead, his brain helpfully provided.

No. He wasn't dead. He'd found Molly, so he'd have his chance. They were legalists, after all. Tricksters, maybe, but legalists.

"Get away from him, Molly,” he warned, his voice low and – he hoped – commanding.

It smirked. "Wouldn't you like me to,” it said.

Shane glared. _Three things,_ Chaverim's voice said in his ear. He took a deep breath, thinking about Ryan, picking his words carefully.

"You're going to fail,” Molly chanted, sing-song. "You're going to fail and he's going to be _all mine."_

Shane felt anger surge in his chest, followed rapidly followed by determination and sheer indignation. Who was this demon, to mock him? He was a servant of God – _that was really weird,_ a little inner voice said, _holy shit what the fuck –_ and no little upstart demon was going to beat _him._

He felt the warmth rise through him, and he set his jaw and stared at Molly. "Molly, I command you to release Ryan, in the name of God.” It felt like wind moved through him, and Molly let go of Ryan's hand like it had been burnt.

"Oooh, the great demon hunter's _learning,_ he thinks he's _so powerful_ , he thinks he'll _win—"_

_"In the name of the Most High God, I banish you, Molly, to the depths of hell, never to return to this mortal plane, and **most definitely** never to attack Ryan Bergara again."_

The words left his mouth like he couldn't control them – it felt like they were flowing out of their own accord, taking shape in his mind like golden swirls of light, streaking towards Molly, then _through_ it. The demon screamed – _please don't wake Ryan,_ Shane thought – and the moonlight coming in the window behind it ate away at its dress, its shoes, its hair, until it was nothing but a silhouette of static, screaming at him deafeningly— and then it was gone.

The world went dark, and Shane collapsed to the floor in a dead faint at the foot of Ryan's hospital bed. A grandmotherly nurse took up position beside the door, and the night passed without further incident.


	6. Scripta

Shane woke up feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. His mouth was drier than he remembered it ever being – and that was saying something given his past couple days – and literally every part of his body ached. His legs felt like he'd been sitting on them for hours, they were all pins and needles; the section of his spine between his shoulders cracked at least half a dozen times as he stretched his right shoulder because he couldn't feel his arm; his face peeled uncomfortably away from the floor as he lifted himself to a sitting position, blinking rapidly. "What…?" he mumbled, extremely confused.

"I said," came Ryan's voice from somewhere above him, "I'm glad you care, bro, but you could have slept in the chair. The floor seems a little excessive."

Shane ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed, looking over to where Ryan sounded like he was coming from. The room he was in was bright… the floor was cold and hard… Ryan was here… He'd fallen asleep in Ryan's hospital room, on the floor? What had happened? He couldn't remember…

Then it all came back: the dream, driving like a madman through the little city, sprinting down the corridors— _banishing Molly_. He must have passed out. Apparently banishing demons took a lot out of you.

He looked up at the clock on the wall. Ten after nine in the morning. He'd slept at least ten hours, then, scrunched up on the linoleum. Lovely. His favourite.

"Uh," he finally said, "yeah. I just… couldn't get comfortable." Not _exactly_ a lie.

Ryan snickered softly. "Bonestilts Madej couldn't get comfortable in a chair? Colour me shocked."

Shane pushed himself over to the chair and slowly stood up just high enough to slump down into it. "Oh shut up, Bergara. Your feet don't even touch the ground when you sit in a chair." He shifted to take pressure off his tailbone, which was still complaining. "How are you feeling?"

"Eh, I could be a lot worse," Ryan replied. "They've got me on a painkiller drip, so unless I _laugh too hard_ —" Shane did his best to look innocent— "I'm not in much pain. Haven't tried to move though, I've been too tired. Apparently almost dying leaves you pretty exhausted."

He said it so jocularly that Shane's breath caught in his throat. Leave it to Ryan Bergara to be able to make light of dying— _nearly_ dying— only a day and a half after the fact. "Yeah, I bet. Was anyone in yesterday to talk to you about how things were going? You were already asleep when I got back yesterday, and I didn't want to wake you." Ugh, he was going to have to get used to these little white lies, wasn't he. He didn't like it.

"Yeah," he said, shifting a little and sighing. Whatever the doctor had said, Ryan didn't like it much, Shane could tell. "The doctor said it would take at least two months before I'm back to normal. Very light movement in the first two weeks – sitting up is fine, I should walk around at least a little every day. And then ramp it up as time goes on. Basically just… be careful. Don't strain it. The last thing they want is any of the stitches or staples – internal or external – to be damaged."

Shane's heart sank. He felt badly for Ryan – the little guy clearly wanted to be back on his feet so much, didn't want this to keep him on the bench. On the other hand, if he could start walking now, it was going to be hard to convince him not to go on shoots already— even though Shane suspected Ryan's frightened antics in most of their shoots probably counted as strenuous activity. Maybe Shane _could_ convince him to do some desk cases, at least for a month or so. Find a compromise. "I hear internal bleeding's just the best thing since sliced bread," he said, "I dunno why they wouldn't want you to start shooting hoops tomorrow."

Ryan smirked. "Yuk it up all you want, dude. Looks like I'm desk-bound for a while at least."

 _Thank God,_ Shane thought. _Now it's your idea, not mine, and definitely not HQ's._ "That sucks, man," he said, frowning. "I'm sorry."

Ryan shrugged a little. "It is what it is. I'm just glad nothing got seriously damaged. They said it could have been much worse."

"Oh?" Shane was skeptical. …Well, Shane was always skeptical. ( _Until two days ago,_ his brain supplied. Fuck off, brain.) "Really? I mean… it… you seemed pretty bad."

"Yeah, actually," Ryan continued, "the pipe hit my spleen – that's why there was so much blood, apparently – and my liver, but kind of avoided everything else. They said it was basically a miracle it had avoided everything, but hey, I'm not one to turn down miracles."

"...Huh," Shane said after a moment of awkward silence. "That's… really good." He wondered about the extent of the actual… _miracle_... that had taken place. How much had Raquel done? Ryan had died pretty quickly – he couldn't believe he was actually _thinking this –_ like, within minutes. Probably less than ten. That had to have been serious internal bleeding. Then again, he wasn't a doctor, he had no idea.

Ryan was staring at him. Shane realized he'd been passed the conversation ball, as it were, and had literally no idea what Ryan had just said. A couple more seconds of silence passed before Ryan raised an eyebrow and said, "You okay, man? You kinda… spaced out."

"Uh, yeah," he replied quickly. "Guess I'm just not quite awake yet. Sorry. What did you say?"

Ryan squinted slightly, like he didn't quite believe Shane at first, but then relaxed. "Just that I was wondering about insurance stuff. TJ called and said HQ had sent some stuff along, but he hasn't been in."

Shane nodded. "He mentioned it to me when I was at the hotel yesterday. I'm sure he'll bring it, probably needs to be you that fills it out."

"Ugh, yeah, I bet." Ryan shifted again and winced. "I hate paperwork."

Shane frowned, noticing the wince. "You okay?"

Ryan huffed. "I've been sitting like this for ages and I'm sore, but moving's either gotta be incredibly slow or incredibly small."

Shane laughed. "And Ryan Bergara is not the most patient of men."

"Shut up, Shane. Let's see _you_ move quickly with abdominal trauma."

"Touché, touché. Want a hand?"

Ryan paused, looking away from Shane for a second, then back up. "...Yeah, if you wouldn't mind, that'd be great."

"No problem," he said, standing up. "Where d'you wanna go?"

Ryan thought for a second. "I kinda just want to shift up a bit so I'm not leaning back so far. And honestly, crossing my legs would be heavenly, I think if they stay straight any longer I'm not going to be able to bend my knees anymore."

"We can totally do that." Shane leaned on his back foot, surveying Ryan in the bed, working out how to do this with as little movement as possible. "Okay. I think the best way to do this is going to be… you put your arms around my neck and I'll get one arm around your back for support while I lever the bed up a bit with my other hand – then I'll swap arms, scoop your legs up, move you back a bit, we'll get you settled back against the pillows and then I'll help you cross your legs, how's that sound?"

Ryan took a slow, deep breath. "Sounds like a plan. Sounds like a plan that's gonna hurt, but I think it's the best we've got."

"Right, let's do this then." Shane stepped to the edge of the bed and leaned over, waiting for Ryan to loop his arms around Shane's neck before slipping his right arm in behind Ryan's back— and realizing far too late that Ryan was most definitely just wearing a hospital gown, and he was extraordinarily grateful that his face was by Ryan's ear and so Ryan couldn't see the _incredible_ blush that took him by surprise. What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

He swallowed, ignoring the warm skin-to-skin contact as best he could, and focused instead on steadying himself, engaging his own core as Ryan leaned into him and pulled down on his neck, keeping his arm strong around Ryan's back. He could feel Ryan beginning to tremble already from fatigue. "We're halfway there, buddy, hang on," he said, reaching carefully for the lever that would move the head of the bed up… pulling it gently once, twice, there we go, that was a better angle.

Ryan was breathing hard, and Shane felt him rest his forehead against his collarbone. His heart ached, but he couldn't dwell on it—no time. He gently moved his left arm in along Ryan's back, removing his right without losing support, and then slipped his now free arm under the sheets, finding Ryan's knees. "Ready?"

One breath. Two. "…Ready," Ryan said. Shane lifted him, carefully, shifting him backwards only a couple inches or so before setting him softly against the pillows again. Ryan's arms slid down Shane's shoulders and his head fell back against the pillows, his eyes closing, his mouth and the muscles around his eyes tight. Shane silently bent one of Ryan's legs, then the other, then tucked the sheets in again and sat back down, letting his friend catch his breath.

Ryan finally spoke a couple minutes later, his voice slightly strained, eyes still closed. "Thanks, man."

"Of course," Shane replied easily. He could tell Ryan was a little embarrassed at having to ask for help to move, but Shane thought no less of him for it. "That's what friends are for."

"Heh. I guess so." Ryan finally opened his eyes again, looking back over at Shane. "I never really thought about how much you have to use your abs to move. Holy shit."

"Discoveries all around," Shane said, raising his eyebrows. "You hungry? I'm surprised we haven't been visited by a nurse yet."

"One probably stepped around you while you were sleeping, honestly," Ryan replied. "I think they come early in the morning, and then again at ten. Someone should be in soon."

Shane's phone buzzed in his pocket – he pulled it out. "TJ's wondering if you're up, and if you're ready to start the insurance shit. What do you want me to tell him?" He looked up at Ryan.

"Yeah, that's fine. Better to get it over with, right?"

"Probably." Shane tapped out a reply.

* * *

TJ showed up half an hour later, with coffee and a bacon-and-egg breakfast sandwich for Shane, and an apple juice and slightly less unhealthy breakfast sandwich for Ryan (ham and egg). When Ryan made offended noises at his lack of bacon, TJ raised his hands in innocence. "I called ahead and they said you couldn't have huge amounts of fat, bro. Plus they said the sodium would be pushing it… but then I said it was from the local café, and apparently the nurse knew the menu and it would be fine." They all laughed, and Shane and Ryan dug in with gusto.

"That explains why no one showed up with breakfast," Shane said, chasing a mouthful of bacon and egg with a gulp of coffee. "Oh sweet Lord in heaven, thank you for the gift of caffeine."

"Yeah yeah, rub it in why don't you, mister 'I'm allowed to have stimulants'." Ryan shook his head and polished off his sandwich.

"Man, you might have— _almost_ died," Shane said, catching himself just in time, playing off the stutter as something caught in his throat, "but at least you spent most of the last two days asleep. Caffeine is a literal godsend right now, no word of a lie."

"Oh? Are you suddenly believing in the divine? Does that mean we need to rebrand?" The old gleam in Ryan's eyes was back in full force. _He's actually going to be okay_ , Shane thought. He hadn't been able to convince himself, yet.

He snorted. "God no. I worship only at the altar of caffeine and you know it." He squirmed slightly, hoping outright blasphemy would be forgiven in his need to, well, hide literally everything about what his life was now. Oh well. If the big guy had a problem with it, Shane was sure he'd find out. Nothing else had been particularly subtle as of yet.

TJ pulled a small sheaf of papers out of his messenger bag. "So," he started, "we gotta do this insurance stuff, and preferably soon. You good to write, Ryan? If not I can fill things in, but you need to tell me what to write and you gotta sign it."

"Nah, I can write," Ryan said, shaking his head and holding out his hand for the papers. "Just swing that little rolling table over and give me a pen." TJ did so, handing Ryan the pen and placing the papers down on the table. Luckily, the angle Shane had chosen for the bed was perfect for writing – didn't need adjusting at all.

There was silence for a few moments as Ryan began writing. Shane finished his breakfast and sat back, sipping his coffee. TJ pulled out his phone and started tapping – probably answering email, Shane suspected. Then Ryan spoke, bringing both other men up to look at him. Well, TJ anyway; Shane hadn't looked anywhere else. "Shane," Ryan said, not looking up, "can I put you down as my emergency contact? I haven't got any family nearby, and, well, Helen..."

Shane cleared his throat. "Yeah, of course dude. No problem."

"Thanks." Ryan kept writing.

Silence for a bit more. Shane retreated behind his coffee cup, watching Ryan over the lid, TJ returning to his emails. Chaverim had come in before TJ had gotten there, checking Ryan's numbers and filling in his chart. He'd raised an eyebrow at her when Ryan's eyes had been closed, and gotten a smile and wink in return. She'd reported that he was doing well: blood pressure and oxygenation was good, it didn't look like there was any internal bleeding or escaping gases, and the incisions seemed to be healing well for twenty-four hours in. She'd left with a smile and the most grandmotherly pat Shane had ever seen to Ryan's hand, saying someone would be back after shift change unless he needed anything.

"So," Ryan said, breaking the silence again, and glancing up at TJ. "The doctor came in and chatted with me yesterday."

"Yeah?" TJ said, putting his phone down. "How's it looking?"

"Not the best," Ryan admitted, "but a lot better than it could be."

"How long are you grounded for?"

Ryan raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Technically I can walk whenever, just for little bits at a time. They recommend desk work for at least a couple weeks, with some physical activity. After that, I'm allowed to just… ramp it up slowly. Be aware of my own limits." Shane snickered softly, drawing a scowl from Ryan. "I know my limits, you beanpole, quit snickering at me." Shane did his patented tea-sip. Or, well, coffee-sip. Ryan just shook his head.

TJ hummed thoughtfully. "I think we can work with that just fine, actually. Post-mortems won't be a problem, we'll just be in HQ… and for shooting..." He paused, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. "Here's a thought. Nix it if you want, it's your health, but: why don't I check with our locations for the next few shoots and see if they're accessible enough for a wheelchair? Even if you don't want to film in it, we could probably work around that."

Shane's eyes lit up. "Or we could attach the equipment to the chair. Oh my God, that would be the funniest thing."

Ryan narrowed his eyes at Shane. "What did I say about mocking me?" But then he grinned. "Yeah, no, actually that would be pretty funny. The ghost-hunting wheelchair." He looked back at TJ, tilting his head, considering. "Let's do it. Or at least scope out the possibility. I'm not going to be back to normal for at least a couple months, so I figure we probably ought to be open about this rather than create a bunch of rumours. Unless that's gonna cause liability issues...?"

TJ frowned. "I don't… _think_ so. The house was abandoned, I think a bank owns the land and it's on their 'we'll demolish it sometime' list – but we've got insurance for these types of things, so it's not like Buzzfeed's going to want to recoup costs or anything. I'll check with the legal department, so don't say anything just yet – we don't want the insurance company suing us or something like that – but we should be fine?"

"Okay," Ryan said, turning his head back down to the paperwork. "Sounds like a plan to me. Did we get enough footage for the episode?"

TJ nodded. "Oh yeah, loads," he replied. "All we really need is a closer, which you can do in studio when we get back. It'd be awesome if we could get a couple shots of the two of you walking outside the house after dark – we didn't get those – but honestly, if you're not feeling up to it, I can go get a couple wide shots for atmosphere by myself."

Ryan made a thoughtful noise. "Okay. Have we got time for me to think about that before giving you a solid answer?"

"For sure," TJ replied. "We've all got the go-ahead from HQ to be here until you're cleared to leave. Take the time you need."

They lapsed into companionable silence again, Ryan filling out forms, Shane working away at his coffee, TJ answering emails and then working on his laptop. Almost like the office, Shane pondered. You really could find normalcy anywhere.

Well. Normalcy didn't really include being a demon hunter and also apparently developing feelings for his best friend. But that was a conversation he'd have with himself later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to paladincoolcats for supplying Ryan's brilliant opening line of dialogue. I owe you one, friend. :D
> 
> As before with Shane/Sara, past Ryan/Helen probably won't come into play unless it becomes plot-relevant. For now, it was also a thing that happened, was great, and ended for reasons unknown.


	7. Iconographia

Shane walked into Ryan's hospital room at nine AM the next morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after finally sleeping a full night in an actual bed. He found Ryan also awake, chewing on the end of a pencil while staring at the crossword in the newspaper on his rolling table. "Morning," he said as he walked in.

Ryan looked up and smiled. "Hey dude, what's shakin'?"

"We got the clear from HQ to tell the world. All the grisly details, Bergara, we can send 'em _worldwide_." He spread his arms as wide as his smile. "D'you wanna 'gram it? Snap it? Tweet it? We got carte blanche, man."

Ryan grinned. "No way, really? I was sure the insurance company would throw a fit. Or the bank that owns the land. Or the insurance company would refuse to pay because we walked in there ourselves, or...I dunno, I just expected we'd have to keep it hush."

"Well, I'm exaggerating _very_ slightly," Shane said, sitting in his regular chair. "Buzzfeed's insurance policies cover accidental injury even in cases where they're liable – they send people into semi-dangerous situations relatively regularly and also make shit-tons of money, so apparently it just ... makes sense to do it that way. So don't go shit-talking anyone, we do have to make it clear it was an accident, but we don't have to hide it. Legal says we're on solid ground – and it wouldn't be worth the court costs for anyone to sue."

"Huh." Ryan tilted his head, thoughtful. "Well then. I guess we gotta decide how we want to play this."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "What, like spin it? You wanna spin this?"

"No, not spin it, I'm just thinking about timing – do we say what happened right now, or do we keep it hush until the video?" Ryan twirled the pencil between his fingers, then tapped it on the table. "If we keep it quiet, we're looking at two and a half months before the ep airs at least, at which point I'll already be back to normal – hopefully."

"That seems like more trouble than it's worth, honestly," Shane put forward. "You'd have to curate the hell out of your social – and everyone else's. Or else go dark, which will just cause more questions."

"Yeah. The more I think about it, the less beneficial it seems. I was wondering about keeping it on the down-low so we didn't have the extra attention going for _months_ – because you _know_ the Internet's gonna have a fucking field day with this – but it'll just become the new normal, right?" He looked over at Shane. "Easier to adjust to a new normal than to constantly be assessing whether we're sufficiently hiding. Plus, we live in LA. Someone's gonna see me before I'm out of the wheelchair."

Shane nodded. "I'd agree with that. I mean, we could totally do it, if that's what you wanted, but I feel like our energy might be better spent elsewhere. Up to you, bro."

Ryan was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You've got my phone, yeah?"

Shane reached into his pocket. "Yeah, I brought it like you asked." He handed it over. "Charged it up last night."

Ryan took it from him. "Thanks." He tapped at it a couple times. "Did we get any direction on how HQ wants us to do this?"

"Nope," Shane replied, popping the p. "They said it's all you, they've got your back."

"Cool." He lifted the phone and angled it down at himself. "Take a hospital selfie with me?"

Shane snorted. "Yeah alright, you weirdo." He got up, moved his chair over, sat down again, and leaned in beside Ryan, looking up at the phone. "What do you want, peace signs? Silly faces?"

"Fuck, I dunno, how about I do a peace sign and you do finger guns." He snickered as Shane complied. "Ow, goddammit. Three, two, one— got it." Shane leaned back into his chair. "Gonna post it to Insta."

* * *

ryanbergara

[image]

So ... this happened. Had an accident while filming @buzzfeedunsolved with @shanemadej. Don't worry – I'll be good as new in no time. #ryanbergara0 #abandonedhouse1

9:09 AM

* * *

Shane tapped at his phone, sitting in a chair in the hospital cafeteria, legs out in front of him underneath the table. It was late afternoon: Ryan was in the rehabilitation wing, getting familiarized with his new wheelchair. TJ was handling paperwork with the hospital administration, getting the insurance details worked out. Meanwhile, Shane was handling their social media accounts. As expected, Ryan's Instagram post had blown up – several thousand likes in a couple hours, and the comments were flowing in fast and furious. Shane had reassured countless people that Ryan was in no further danger – he had it on copy/paste by now.

"Hey, think we can put afterburners on this thing?"

Shane looked up to see Ryan, wheeling himself up to Shane's table. "I kinda doubt it, man. We could probably find you some bumper stickers. 'I brake for UFOs', maybe? Ooh, I see an opening for Unsolved merch."

Ryan wheezed. "I'll stick ghosts all over it. Good idea. Really on-brand."

Shane flashed him a thumbs up, putting his phone down on the table. "How are you feeling? How's the chair?"

"It's alright. Gonna need to practice moving around, but it's manageable. Doesn't hurt too much." He pushed himself back and forth a bit.

Shane frowned slightly. "Too much?"

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, it pulls a bit yet. Better than yesterday already, but I'm gonna have to take it easy for a while."

Shane swiveled out of his chair and faced him fully. "Okay – I'll help out till you're good, then. Don't want you getting hurt."

"You don't have to," Ryan said, frowning a little awkwardly. "I can handle it."

Shane waved a hand. "No worries dude. Like I said – it's what friends are for." He stood up. "Should we go find TJ? Are you free to go?"

"Yeah, I think I'm free once all the insurance papers are signed." He paused, then looked up at Shane – way up. "You sure about this? I mean, I appreciate the help, but you don't have to go out of your way, man."

"Yeah I'm sure." _I am not letting you out of my sight,_ Shane thought, looking down at his friend. _No way in hell_. _Not when you can't run...or see the things that want to get you. Not until I know what the hell I'm up against._ _Especially once you're out of this angel-protected hospital._ "We had this time booked off for shooting anyway. I won't be missing anything I can't reschedule, and I want to help." He shrugged. "Looks like you're stuck with me, Bergara."

"Ha. Good thing I like you. C'mon, let's go find TJ."

Shane stuck his phone in his pocket, walked around behind Ryan's chair, and took hold of the handles. "Wanna see how fast this thing can go?"

Ryan wheezed. "Maybe let's not land me _back_ in a hospital bed."

"Awww," Shane pouted, "you're no fun. What happened to afterburners?"

* * *

An hour and several dozen signatures later, Shane wheeled Ryan out the front doors of the hospital, to where TJ was waiting with Ryan's car. 

"Can you wheel me right up to the door, Shane?" Ryan asked. "The less distance I have to travel solo the better."

"For sure," Shane replied. He stepped forward, opened the front passenger door, then pushed Ryan's chair as close as he could, diagonally into the opening. "You need a hand?"

Ryan paused a second. "...I don't think so, actually. If I angle this right, and use my arms and legs, I should be able to manoeuver myself in. Just lock the wheels so it doesn't roll back."

"Gotcha." Shane flipped the switches on the wheels, locking them in place, and held onto the handles to keep it extra still.

"Right." Ryan squared his shoulders, then reached out and took hold of the door with his right hand, placing his left foot forward onto the car's frame. "Teej," he said, looking over at the man in the driver's seat, "could you give me your hand, actually? If we both pull at the same time that'll help."

"Totally," TJ replied, leaning over and offering Ryan his right hand, which Ryan took with his left. "Give me a count and I'll pull on go."

Ryan braced his right foot on the wheelchair. "Three, two, one— _go_." TJ pulled with his right arm, Ryan flexed his left arm to steady the pull in, pushing off with his right foot and shifting his weight onto his left foot, swiveling his body counter-clockwise— and then he was in the seat with a huff and a sharp groan. "Fuck, ow." Before TJ or Shane could say anything, he'd already put up his hands. "No, no, I'm fine, it's all good. Nothing popped."

Shane wasn't bothering to hide the very concerned frown on his face – mostly because Ryan was facing completely away from him, and the wing mirror was not angled so he could see. TJ might, but, hey. He could only care so much. Ryan was trying too much, too fast. Shane wondered how far his friend would have to go before he allowed himself more help. He'd done pretty much everything on his own since Shane had helped him move early the day before. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's get out of here."

Shane exhaled slowly and popped the brakes on the wheelchair, bringing it around to the trunk of the car. TJ met him there, helped him fold it and lift it into the back before he hopped into the back seat, Shane taking the driver's spot. 

Ryan had buckled himself in while he and TJ were stowing the chair, Shane saw; he buckled his own seatbelt, checked the mirrors. "Back to the hotel, then? You wanna pack, get some takeout, watch a movie, shoot the shit?"

Ryan shook his head. "I was actually thinking we should go get the closing footage, if you guys are okay with it."

Shane looked over at him, and caught TJ frowning slightly in the back seat. "You sure, Ryan? You only just got out of hospital, you don't have to rush."

"I know," he said, looking away, out the window. "I just ... man, I kinda wanna ditch this fucking town, you know what I mean? Been stuck here for days now and it's ... it's on my mind. I want to get it over with and head back to LA."

Ryan seemed bothered by something, but Shane couldn't tell what. Apparently divine powers didn't include mind reading. He bit his lip. "Well, if you're up to doing it, I'm okay with getting it done. Teej?" Shane looked over his shoulder, seeing his own worried expression mirrored in their friend's. "What's your take? You ready to shoot?"

"Not quite," TJ replied, holding Shane's gaze for a second before ducking down to check the gear bag at his feet. "We'd need to swing by the hotel first, I brought car recording gear just in case but I didn't bring the wide lens for the closing shots. Wouldn't take more than a minute though. If you guys wanna get it done, we can. By the time we get there the light will be..." He looked up, out the window. "Actually the light – or lack thereof – will be just what we want."

"Great," Ryan said, though he didn't sound as enthusiastic as he usually did about shooting. "Let's do it."

Shane didn't say anything, just carefully wiped the frown off his face as he turned back to the front and shifted the car into drive.

* * *

It had been a quiet forty-five minutes. They'd gotten to the hotel, TJ had hopped out to grab the lens (as well as a few area lights) and then back in, they'd driven out to the little house in the woods in the dying sunlight. There had been some minor, pointless conversation, but mostly Ryan had been quiet and Shane hadn't known how to break the silence. Banter didn't seem right, somehow. Ryan had something on his mind, and either didn't want to, or wasn't ready to, talk about it.

Shane stopped the car at the end of the drive, looking through the windshield at the house where it had all began, only a few days ago. He glanced over at Ryan and saw that he, too, was staring straight forward. Shane hadn't probed any further about Ryan's memories of the night, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was anything Ryan hadn't told him. He heard the back door open, and TJ climbed out of the car, grabbing gear and going to set up. Shane debated whether to get out and help him, or getting Ryan's chair, or taking the opportunity to ask Ryan if—

"This is weird," Ryan said, softly, making Shane's decision for him.

"Mm," Shane hummed affirmatively. "I mean, it's weird for me, I imagine it's a whole other set of weird for you." 

"Yeah." Ryan hadn't looked away from the house. "I can't tell if I'm angry, or scared, or what. It's ... yeah, man, it's just really weird."

"That's fair. I mean... you _did_ almost die in there. Enough to weird anybody out."

"Hah."

"...You sure you wanna do this? We don't have to." Shane's hands hadn't left the steering wheel. He could see TJ setting up the area lights, so they'd get clear shots of his and Ryan's faces. TJ seemed to be taking his time with it, going slower than he usually did. He was also clearly stopping every once in a while and looking around, from where he was to the car, and to the house, and ... oh, he was making sure he'd picked angles that matched with where it would be easy to push the chair. _Thank God for TJ Marchbank,_ Shane thought.

Ryan was quiet for a moment. "...No, I think I have to. Otherwise it's gonna bug me forever, that this house got the better of me. I want to at least even the score, you know? Prove it can't get me down."

Shane snorted. _The house had shit-all to do with it, and that problem's already taken care of, man._ "Yeah, I get you," he said aloud. "What're you gonna do, burn the fucker?"

Ryan wheezed. "No, you idiot, that'll _definitely_ get the insurance company on our asses. Honestly, I—" He cut himself off. Shane waited a moment, but Ryan didn't say anything.

"You what?" He prompted.

"Never mind. It's dumb."

Shane looked over at Ryan. "You can tell me. Like half of the videos Buzzfeed puts out are people being dumb together. You're in good company. No judgment here."

Ryan snorted. "Yeah, I guess so." He paused. "I... Honestly, Shane, I wanna flip the fucking floor off. Give it the double bird. And I wanna film it, and put it on the Internet."

"Okay."

Ryan finally broke his gazing at the house and met Shane's eyes. "Seriously? You don't think that's the stupidest thing you've ever heard? It's an _inanimate object._ "

Shane shrugged. "So? If it makes you feel better, I'm all for it. You've been mulling this over all day, I can tell. And honestly? I don't think it's that stupid. Closure's a thing."

Ryan didn't answer right away, just watched Shane for a moment before turning to look out the windshield again. "Yeah, I guess it is." A beat of silence. "We should probably go help TJ."

"Yeah." Shane unclasped his seatbelt and opened his door. "I'll grab the chair first."

"Thanks, man." 

Shane went around to the trunk and hauled the chair out, unfolding it and wheeling it over to Ryan, who had opened the door and undone his own seatbelt. "Want a hand?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer was going to be.

"No, I should be okay. Thanks, though." 

"Any time." Shane flipped the brakes onto the wheels, watching carefully as Ryan lifted himself awkwardly with his arms, swiveling his legs out, then sliding forward a bit until his feet landed on the footrest of the chair. Shane stifled a small sigh as he waited for Ryan to realize he wasn't going to be able to turn himself without help, or without— 

Ryan gritted his teeth and stood carefully on the footrests, leaning forward and grabbing the arm of the wheelchair, twisting himself around into it and sitting down hard. Shane didn't say anything, but he could tell Ryan was repressing heavy breathing, and the muscles around his eyes and mouth were tight again.

If Shane had been a betting man, he'd have put considerable money on Ryan not lasting the night before having to admit he needed help – or damaging his stitches somehow. But Ryan Bergara was nothing if not an independent son of a bitch, and if he was going to steel himself and go into houses he believed were haunted, then there was no way he was going to sit idly by – or let himself be _manhandled._

A strange shiver went down Shane's spine at the thought of holding Ryan again. He had no time to consider it, however, as TJ was approaching. "You guys ready?" he asked, camera up.

"Yeah, I think so," Ryan replied, clearing the last of the painful grimace from his face. "How about you, big guy?"

"Who, me?" Shane pulled Ryan's chair away from the car, and closed the door. "You know me, I'm ready for anything." _And I really, really hope little Molly was the only one here._

"Okay, then let's get this done so we can head back," TJ continued. "I'm thinking we get a shot of you two on the porch, discussing the evidence we got, and a shot of you walking along the side of the house."

Shane frowned a little. _Ryan's not going to be able to walk that much,_ he thought, _but he won't tell TJ that, and TJ won't make the call for him. Goddammit Ryan, why do you have to be such a stubborn_ —

"Sounds good," Ryan said. "I want one in the house, too."

TJ's eyebrows furrowed. "Okay ... why?"

Ryan shrugged. "Personal vendetta against the floor that tried to kill me. It'll get great views."

TJ raised an eyebrow, thinking it over. "...Yeah, you know, it probably will. Good idea, Ry. You wanna do that one first?"

"Nah, let's do it last. Cap off the night."

 _And exhaust yourself with all the stairs,_ Shane thought. _I'm going to have to carry you out, Bergara, you bone-headed idiot._

"Let's start with the walking shots," Ryan continued. "Get all the walking out of the way."

TJ nodded. "Over here. I've got the lights set up." Shane followed TJ, pushing Ryan's chair. It was slow going – TJ had picked the flattest path, but gravel still wasn't concrete by any means. When they got to the spot where TJ wanted them to start walking, he came around the front of the chair and saw Ryan was already white as a sheet. The bumping from the gravel must have jolted him worse than Shane had thought.

TJ walked away from the pair, to grab the boom mic attachment for the camera. Shane squatted next to the chair, looking slightly up at Ryan, and he pitched his voice low. "Are you okay? You look pale."

Ryan met his eyes for a second, then looked away, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "...Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be okay. I gotta do this."

Shane felt the impulse to put his hand on Ryan's knee, but he held it back. "You don't have to do it _walking_. I can push you." Ryan didn't answer, just kept staring off into the distance.

TJ came back. "You guys ready?" 

Shane stood up. "Yeah, I think so. Ry?" He held out his hand, and Ryan took it, and they both pulled, Ryan standing up out of the chair.

"Yeah," Ryan said, a little breathlessly. "I'm ready. This isn't gonna be a fast walk, Teej."

TJ shook his head. "That's fine, man. Do whatever you can. I'm gonna get a couple steps of you guys headed towards me, then your backs headed away. Don't talk for this one. And unless you fall down or something—" _Don't say that, _Shane thought— "we'll only need one take. The lights look good."

"Okay," Ryan said, and let go of Shane's hand. Shane's hand felt far colder than it had been before, and he flexed it unconsciously. "Shall we?"

"Yeah, let's," Shane said, looking down at his friend. 

"And... _rolling_ ," TJ said, falling in behind the camera unit. Shane took a step forward, then waited until Ryan was ahead of him by a step before settling in beside him. He picked a tree in the distance to focus on, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket, Ryan doing the same with his jean jacket. Neither of them spoke, just walked side-by-side along the wall of the house, both headed towards probably the same tree – a lone birch, tall and a little crooked, about a hundred metres away.

They'd walked about thirty steps – Ryan was beginning to slow down – when TJ called, " _Cut!_ That's good, guys, you can stop. That's enough to work with." 

Ryan stepped sideways and leaned on the house, his chest heaving lightly. Shane turned to him. "You okay?"

"...I don't think I can walk back." His eyes were open, but he was staring into middle distance.

"I'll go get the chair," Shane said, and turned fully, jogging back towards the porch. He brought the wheelchair back as quickly as he could, stopping it right behind Ryan, and locking the wheels. "Okay, buddy, you can sit down. It's right behind you."

Ryan didn't move. "...Can you give me a hand?" he finally said.

"Of course," Shane replied, coming up beside him. "Lean on me and I'll lower you down." Ryan did so, and Shane helped him down as gently as he could, putting an arm around his back once Ryan's legs had bent fully to keep him from falling. Shane could feel him trembling.

Ryan took a few slow breaths once he was sitting, then looked up at Shane. "Two more shots to go. We can do this. We're gonna do two more shots, then we're gonna eat dinner, and sleep, and drive back to LA in the morning."

Shane bit the inside of his lip. That was Ryan's determined voice. That was the voice he used when he was terrified out of his wits on a shoot, telling himself what his next steps were so he didn't have a panic attack. "Yep," he said, trying to be as light and neutral as possible. "Two more shots. Then we're done." Shane pushed Ryan back to the porch, as slowly as he could, keeping an eye on the ground for rocks and dips. TJ had stopped at the corner of the porch stairs, watching the whole thing, and Shane could tell TJ would throw the whole towel in with one word from Ryan. TJ met Shane's eyes as he and Ryan came up to him, and Shane minutely shook his head. 

"Okay, Teej, let's do the porch shot now, and then we'll get the inside one, and then we'll go home," Ryan said, forcing TJ to look down at him.

"Uh, yeah, of course," TJ replied, clearly trying to keep the doubt from his tone. "How do you wanna get up here? It's not exactly accessible." 

There was a moment of silence as all three men tried to figure out the best way to do this. Shane broke the silence. "Short of carrying you, Ryan, I think your best bet is to lean on me up the stairs. There's only three. I think you can do it." _I don't think you should, though,_ he thought.

"...Yeah, let's do that," Ryan said. "Push me right up against the stairs and I'll grab the banister."

And that's what they did – Ryan pulled himself upright between the banister and Shane's forearm, then the two of them took one step at a time, Shane supporting Ryan up each step slowly— and, Shane could tell from the beads of sweat breaking on Ryan's brow, painfully. Once they got up to the door, TJ walked up behind them. "You know, man," the cameraman said, "let's do the closer in post. You wanna do this indoor shot and call it a night?" _Oh God, Ryan, please say yes,_ Shane thought.

Ryan was quiet for a second. Then, "...yeah," he said, "let's just do the indoor shot. This is taking more out of me than I thought it would."

Shane slipped his arm around Ryan's back, and carefully brought Ryan's arm up onto his own shoulders. "I got you, buddy," he said. "We're gonna flip off this floor and then no one will be able to say an old abandoned house got the best of Ryan Bergara."

"Ha ha," Ryan replied, weakly. "C'mon, let's get this over with." They walked into the house, Ryan still trying as hard as he could to walk under his own power. Shane could feel him shaking, and silently willed Ryan to _just let him help, goddammit_.

They made it to the base of the stairs. There were ten steps. _There's no way_ , Shane thought. 

Ryan leaned on Shane a bit more, and tilted his head towards him, murmuring. "Shane," he said.

Shane turned. "Yeah?" he asked, quietly.

"I think I'm going to fall down," Ryan whispered, "and there's no way I can get up those stairs."

Shane sighed long and deep and _completely_ silently. "Lean all your weight on me," he replied, "and I'll pick you up." Ryan didn't comply for a second. "Ryan...you know this doesn't make you weak, right?" Shane saw Ryan swallow, then found his own lanky frame supporting nearly all of Ryan's dense, muscled weight. _Lord, give me strength,_ he said to himself— intending it more as a dry remark than a prayer— but he suddenly felt warmer, and Ryan felt lighter. 

Well, he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass. He shifted, letting Ryan lean against his front with Shane's left arm around his back, and then he let Ryan lean back into that arm while he bent and wrapped his right arm under Ryan's knees, scooping the younger man into his arms, bridal-style. He stood up, trusting fully that he would be able to, and found to his slight astonishment that while Ryan felt heavy and solid, Shane didn't feel strained at all.

"You weigh less than a sack of potatoes," Shane joked, and smiled as he saw Ryan roll his eyes and smirk. "Up we go." And up they went. Shane got to the top of the stairs, and TJ followed behind him, stepping gingerly to the side of the landing, getting a good angle of Shane carrying Ryan, facing the hole he had fallen through. "Here we are," Shane said after a moment. "The scene of the crime."

Ryan huffed, and shifted slightly. His right arm was around Shane's neck and shoulders, and his left arm had been as well while they'd gone up the stairs, but you could hardly flip something off with no hands free. He let go of his right hand, and moved his left over, flipping the floor the bird. Shane automatically shifted his grip, supporting Ryan's torso fully in his left arm and against his own chest, and letting his right hip take some of the weight of Ryan's legs. "Fuck you, house," Ryan said, with considerably more bravado than Shane thought would have been possible. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

"Ryan, houses don't ride horses."

"Fuck you too, Shane."

Shane put on a mock-offended face. "That's no way to treat your noble steed, Bergara."

Ryan wheezed. And then the wheeze turned into shaking, and Shane nearly started panicking before he realized what was happening— Ryan had started crying. Shane's face fell, and he shifted Ryan again, pulling him in against his chest. Ryan let his head fall to Shane's collarbone, still crying, and TJ lowered the camera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, what I wouldn't give to have artistic talent.
> 
> Also, I'm 99.999% sure there is no insurance policy that works like this except paying someone to make the problem go away. So *fiction magic handwave!*


	8. Discere

Ryan listened to podcasts all the way back to LA, curled up in the passenger seat with headphones in. TJ holed up in the back, doing an initial rough cut of footage on his Mac – you don't turn down eight hours with no distractions. Shane drove, flipping through radio stations, finding something akin to alternative rock whenever he could. He wasn't really listening. He was paying attention to the road, to Ryan, to TJ's typing in the back seat, and to the weird flashes of sensation he got as they drove down the 101, and then the interstate.

It had started just as they left the city limits, passing the scattered buildings and getting into the low forest-cum-brushland of northern California. He'd felt like he'd passed through some sort of bubble, and he hadn't been able to stop a shiver. Ryan had looked over at him – hadn't started the podcasts yet – and raised an eyebrow. Shane had shaken his head and turned up the thermostat a degree. Continuing on the road, he'd gotten occasional flashes of hot or cold, accompanied by sensations like little directional tugs in his gut. It was very bizarre, and he could only assume it linked up somehow with his new job. Other presences, if he had to guess.

Both Raquel and Chaverim had been very specific, though... he wasn't supposed to hunt, he was supposed to protect. And really, it made sense. He'd sworn to protect Ryan. He couldn't protect Ryan if he went off hunting demons, and bringing Ryan _with_ him to hunt demons was just asking for trouble. He figured this radar, if that's what it was, was just that – a tool. That, or it came with the package. Shane wondered what else came with the package.

They got back to LA without incident. They dropped gear off at Buzzfeed first, then dropped TJ off at his apartment, then Shane drove to his place. "I'll be back in a minute," he said to Ryan. "Gonna grab some clean clothes and stuff."

"No problem," Ryan replied, stowing his headphones in his pocket. "You know, you really don't have to come stay with me if you don't want to."

Shane paused, halfway out of the car, and looked back over his shoulder. "I know." He frowned a little. "Ryan, if you don't want me to come, you can say so straight. I won't be offended. I want to help out, not be a dick and overstep boundaries."

Ryan bit his lip. "No, man, you're not being a dick, that's not it. I just..." He trailed off.

Shane pulled himself back into the car and faced Ryan. "You know I meant what I said last night, in the house, right?"

Ryan half smirked. "What, that houses don't ride horses?"

Shane snorted. "No, you idiot, not that." He leaned forward a bit, keeping Ryan's gaze. "I meant – that this doesn't make you weak, asking for help. It's nothing to be ashamed of. No one expects you to be back shooting hoops, what, four days after major abdominal trauma? No one will think any less of you. _I_ don't think any less of you."

Ryan blinked quickly, and Shane suspected he was keeping back tears. "...If you say so, man."

"I _do_ say so." Shane reached out and put his hand on Ryan's forearm. The touch felt impossibly warm. "You need some help, and so I'm gonna be a bro and help out. You'd do the same if you were in my shoes."

Ryan chuckled softly. "Not sure I could carry you up a flight of stairs, Madej."

"Maybe, but certainly not for lack of strength, you're fucking ripped," Shane replied, "plus, I have bird-bones. Your only problem would be the below-average arm span."

Ryan gave a solid laugh, followed by a grimace. "Oh fuck you, you... you _albatross_."

Shane giggled all the way up the stairs to his apartment.

* * *

They pulled into Ryan's apartment building parking lot about twenty minutes later. Shane got out first, shouldering his repacked duffel, and hauling the wheelchair out for Ryan. With no one else around, Shane immediately offered his arm to Ryan as he opened the door, and Ryan quietly took it, leaning carefully on Shane to get himself arranged in the chair. Ryan held out his arms for his own duffel, which Shane placed carefully in his lap, and then they wheeled up the ramp to the front door. They took the elevator up to the fourth floor, Ryan unlocked his door and then they were in.

"Welcome home, buddy," Shane said, pushing Ryan into the living room.

"Thanks, man," Ryan replied. "Feels good to be home." He stretched, back cracking. "Want supper? I think I've got a pizza in the freezer."

"That'd be rad, actually. I'll toss it in, want me to leave you in your room to unpack?"

"Sure."

Forty minutes later, they ended up on the couch watching the second season of Stranger Things. Three episodes – and half the pizza – in, Ryan had fallen asleep. Shane hit pause on the Netflix queue and looked over at his friend, sprawled semi-awkwardly on the arm and back of the couch. "Yeah, that's not gonna fly," he murmured. He got up, moved over in front of Ryan, pushed the coffee table back, and slipped his arms in around the smaller man's back and knees. "Looks like I'm gonna be doing a fair amount of carrying you, buddy," he whispered, standing and lifting Ryan at the same time. As he suspected, the warmth he had learned to associate with his newly granted divine powers returned, and as before, Ryan was no burden. Ryan didn't stir, only shifting slightly as Shane stood, nestling his head in against Shane's shoulder. Shane smiled slightly, feeling an extra warmth in his chest.

Shane carefully walked across the apartment, nudging Ryan's bedroom door open with his shoulder, and carefully laying Ryan down on his bed. Lucky for him, Ryan hadn't made the bed – Shane was able to pull the blankets over him easily, and he was out with the door shut behind him before Ryan had made a peep.

Well, Ryan was asleep. It barely even counted as late evening yet – sometime after eight, Shane thought. He certainly wasn't ready to camp out on Ryan's couch yet, he wouldn't have any editing work to do until he stopped in at the office tomorrow morning to pick up a couple memory cards, and he was rather tired of staring at Netflix. He sat back down on the couch and felt himself return to normal temperature. He looked at his hands. He really didn't feel any different on the whole, he thought. The power came around every once in a while, he felt the weird flashes of things around him...but he didn't feel any different.

He frowned thoughtfully and worried at his lower lip with his teeth. Might be a good time to figure this shit out, actually, while Ryan was still confined to one location.

He settled in on the couch, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. Maybe he could zero in on those flashes somehow, if he just paid attention. Was this meditating? He wasn't sure. He listened, trying to mentally reach out for any feelings that weren't there before. He heard his breath, and after a few slow inhalations and exhalations, he heard his heartbeat. He wasn't feeling anything particularly out of the ordinary so far, and he wasn't at all sure whether that was because there wasn't anything to feel, or if he just wasn't tapping into it right, _per se_.

He thought. Usually it worked to think about Ryan. He'd been doing a lot of thinking about Ryan lately. Ryan, affectionately dubbed the sunshine boy by the Internet – Shane thought it was pretty spot on, in spite of his silly Vine way back when wherein he'd dubbed _himself_ the Sunshine Man. Ryan's grin could light up a room, and his laughter always lifted everyone's spirits. He was always so enthusiastic about everything. Shane positively loved being his co-host for Unsolved, the two of them complemented each other so well.

 _It's really bright in here all of a sudden_ , Shane thought, _way too bright for California just before nine PM, did Ryan get up and turn on a light, or..._ He hadn't heard anything. He opened his eyes. The room was just as before: dimly lit, the TV screen in low-power mode, the kitchen light on around the corner, the curtains closed.

He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. Bright as a summer's day. He frowned, rolled his head on his shoulders, and focused. The light dimmed slightly, but it felt like it was... behind him?

...Ryan's bedroom was behind him. Shane stood, slowly, and turned around, his eyes still closed. In the direction of Ryan's bedroom door was a what felt like a bright star – it actually physically pained him slightly to look in that direction. _Huh,_ Shane thought. _Guess I know what Chaverim meant by 'beacon', then. Wonder if he was always like that, or if it's new..._

He breathed out slowly, and decided to experiment. He lifted his hands up to cover the bedroom door in his mind's eye, and immediately the brightness that was Ryan dimmed considerably. He turned his head in one direction, then the other, noticing vague feelings of warmth and cold in each direction. He looked over at the living room window, and felt emptiness and a clear, water-like colour; he looked over at the apartment door, and felt a slow sense of dread, a sickly yellow-green. He looked at the television, and felt his heart surge with adrenaline and pent-up energy, an electric teal that made his breath speed up.

He paused, and looked back at the door. The yellow-green returned, slightly more insistent. He frowned. That didn't seem good. He wondered how far the legalism went, whether you had to—

_Invite demons to follow you home._

He inhaled slowly, an awful feeling of shock and horror flooding his limbs. _Fuck everything_ , he thought, _fuck it all, I was such an idiot, what if any of those were real demons, what if I invited something to follow Ryan home and now he shines brighter than the fucking sun, oh fuck oh hell what do I do._

He wrenched his eyes open, and was slightly disoriented upon finding that he hadn't actually moved from his cross-legged position on the couch as he'd thought. Apparently all his moving had been in his mind. He grabbed his laptop from the coffee table, opened an incognito window in Chrome – you never knew when someone would check your internet history – and Googled "how to protect your home from demons".

Crucifixes, holy water, blessed medals. He wondered if Ryan still had any holy water. ...and then he wondered if that had literally been keeping the both of them safe, and he shivered. "Oh look, 19 Ways To Prevent Evil Spirits from Haunting Your Home," he muttered, "I'm fucking losing it." He clicked.

He started skimming. "'Don't panic'?" He scowled. "Don't fucking tell me not to— 'eliminate any confounding factors', okay, yep, definitely know I'm dealing with— okay here we go, this is more useful, herbs and shit. Casting a circle? Oh for the love of God." He opened Notes and started typing. "Agrimony... wards off hostile magic, rejects evil spirits. Cilantro gets rid of negative energy. I think Ryan thinks cilantro tastes like soap so that'd be really weird if I suddenly brought some in. Valerian incense? Seriously? Isn't that, like, a super-powerful sedative? We'll start fucking hallucinating. Jesus." He kept reading. "'Don't expose yourself to—' yeah yeah, too late, moving on. 'Seek out a trusted professional—'... that looks like the second Doctor from Doctor Who, I see your game, terrible website."

He scrolled through to the end of the page, then looked back at his list. "Whatever the fuck agrimony is, wind chimes, sacred objects, a fuckin' horseshoe." He rubbed the back of his head. "I can't get any of that right now but maybe I can later? If any of it fuckin' works, I trust this website about as far as I can throw it. What about... Maybe I'm searching for the wrong thing." He bit his lip and Googled again: "how to spiritually shield your home".

"...This looks more useful," he muttered, taking more notes.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Shane rubbed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. "This all seems very complicated," he murmured. "I wonder if I can just _speak_ protection over the place. I don't have any names, but..." He put his laptop aside and cracked his neck, walking to the middle of the apartment. "Worth a shot I guess."

He let his arms fall by his sides and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, feeling the yellow-green of the doorway, the transparent watery glass of the window, the beaming sunshine of Ryan, the sparking teal of the television. He let his consciousness drift wider, feeling the soft murmuring brown of the dormant oven, the humming platinum of the refrigerator, the sharp orange spike of the coffee grinder. He felt the swirling blues of the plumbing, taking energy into and out of the apartment; he felt all the windows in that same watery glass; he felt the anxious magenta of all the clocks.

He formed the sentences in his head first, feeling them out, molding the golden energy into a bubble in his mind's eye and gently widening it while making sure it was air-tight. He could feel the warmth pooling inside him, like a current of molten gold flowing through him and pausing briefly before moving on its way.

"By the power of the Most High God, I protect this apartment from all evil and any being that wishes to do evil; myself, Ryan Bergara, and anyone staying within it, having the permission of myself or Ryan Bergara, are also protected by the power of the Most High God. No harm shall befall those under this protection while they reside here. All natural energies will pass through this protection, but no evil shall come in with them." The bubble-shield was now stretched around all the corners of the apartment in Shane's mind's eye. "While Ryan Bergara resides in this apartment, his light shall be confined within this protection, and he shall not be seen by any being on the outside." His mental image of the apartment became blindingly bright and he winced internally. Astral light reflected off of astral shields, apparently. "Any and all entry and exit of this apartment by spiritual entities may only occur with my explicit permission." He took one more deep breath. "In the name of the Creator of all things, I say this shall be."

He opened his eyes, feeling the golden energy stop its tugging on him as it settled into place, and he exhaled slowly. Nothing looked different, but when he looked at the front door he no longer felt ill. He grabbed his sleeping bag and crashed on the couch, falling asleep in minutes. He really hoped this got easier with practice.


	9. Domesticitatem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much action this week, just setting up a few things and knocking writer's block out of the park. But don't worry, this lovely little lull will end soon...

Shane got the first hint that he'd fucked something up when he left the apartment building the next morning to go to the offices. He'd left Ryan in the kitchen, making coffee and puttering around the apartment, swearing up and down that once he got tired he'd sit right back down in the wheelchair – which Shane had left for him beside the kitchen table. Shane, still not really convinced of anything but really needing to get back to work or else he'd start looking really weird, had walked out the front door, keys in hand, and he'd been whistling to himself when he'd heard Ryan's voice over his shoulder…

* * *

"Hey Shane!"

Shane stopped and looked back. Ryan's apartment was on the front of the building, and the kitchen window faced out. But he … didn't see Ryan. He frowned. Maybe Ryan had called him, and then moved out of sight? The window wasn't big…

"Would you mind grabbing another carton of milk on your way back?" 

Shane blinked. He knew he was looking at the correct window. But there was no round, smiling, tanned face in it.

"…Dude, have you gone deaf or something?"

"Ah— no, yeah, sorry, was just thinking— yeah I'll totally grab milk, no problem," he replied, still staring at the empty air of Ryan's kitchen window. He then blinked again, as a floating spoon waved at him. 

"Thanks!" The spoon left the window. 

Shane stood and stared, uncomprehending. If Ryan had been trying to prank him, well, it had worked? He had no idea how Ryan had done that. He turned, slowly, and walked to Ryan's Prius.

It took him the entire way to Buzzfeed HQ to realize what had happened. He put the car in park, sat back to undo his seatbelt, and it hit him like a slap to the back of the head.

He, Shane Madej, had made Ryan Bergara effectively invisible to anyone outside his apartment.

He sighed heavily and leaned forward with a deep groan, bonking his forehead against the steering wheel. Fucking _legalism._

* * *

At the office, everyone was understandably keen to hear how Ryan was doing. So while Shane waited for the files he needed to copy to his jump drive, he fielded questions from his concerned co-workers and friends. Yes, Ashly, Ryan was most definitely alive, no need to be quite so dramatic. The floor had given out underneath him, it was entirely an accident; no, Quinta, they weren't going to sue. Yes, there had been a _lot_ of blood, why would you ask that, Andrew, oh you're filming a creepy video, we're gonna have to talk about that. No, they hadn't filmed a taste test of hospital food, but that would have been a good idea, he'd keep that in his back pocket for the next time Ryan grievously injured himself on shoot, thanks Steven. Yes, he was staying with Ryan for a few days until he was more comfortable moving on his own, what was that look for, no it's not _cute_ , shut up Ned. Actually yes, it'd be super helpful if anyone wanted to contribute food, Keith, thank you for asking a _useful_ question. No, Eugene, Ryan was most definitely not going for 'hospital chic' in his selfie, what even _is_ that. Yes, Zach, popcorn counts as food, but Ryan has enough popcorn in his cupboards to last through the apocalypse, and _no,_ he wasn't going to take the weird popcorn seasonings home from the supply cabinet _—_ what, Jen? He'd said home? So what, it's where he was staying, he could call it home, what's the big deal, fucking hell you guys what is _with_ you today.

Shane fell back into the driver's seat of Ryan's Prius feeling like he'd just endured several rounds with the Spanish Inquisition. He got milk on autopilot, and was parked back at the building without thinking about the whole invisible-Ryan issue until he stepped out onto the road and looked up, seeing the window.

Fuuuuck.

He stood there and thought for a moment. He hadn't been able to see anything Ryan had been wearing, so it wasn't _that_ picky: stuff _on_ Ryan was invisible from outside, stuff he was _holding_ was still visible. He supposed that was pretty good. Unless Ryan held up a neon sign in front of his living room window, he didn't think anyone from the street would notice a random object that happened to be floating unless they were paying attention. Hell, _he_ hadn't even noticed the spoon until it had moved, so that was a stellar endorsement for humanity's perception skills. 

…Probably still a good idea to do something about it, if he could. Shane wasn't sure how to go about making amendments to divine protection spells. Blessings? Dammit, he really wished there was, like, a Wiki for this.

* * *

Two nights in a row, now, they were on the couch with Netflix and pizza. This time, Shane had made it: chicken, spinach, and marinara on a frozen crust. Not too fancy, but a step up from wholly frozen pizza. Shane figured Ryan was sick to death of takeout and hospital food, so something a little more homemade might be nice. Plus, while he was driving back, Ariel had texted him and asked if Ryan liked Thai noodles, so he suspected something really nice might show up on his desk in the next couple days … Things were looking up. 

Shane had spent most of the day at Ryan's kitchen table, working. Ryan had joined him for the morning, and it had been much like the office – the two of them sitting at the same table, on their computers, different folders of footage open on their screens, muttering to themselves and occasionally turning the screen to ask for an opinion. Shane had gotten back to a fresh pot of coffee (which was what Ryan had been working on when he'd left and discovered he'd made his best friend invisible) and they'd worked in companionable silence until lunch, when Shane had dressed up some ramen while giving Ryan hella side-eye.

"Is this seriously what you keep in your cupboards? Christ, Ryan, we're going shopping later."

"Dude, I always eat lunch at the office and it's usually, like, Chipotle."

" _Still._ "

After lunch, Ryan had excused himself to go lay down for a bit, and he'd ended up napping for a couple hours and then keeping Shane company while he kept working. At four-thirty, Shane had stretched, cracked his back, and draped an arm over the back of his chair, angling himself over to Ryan. "What do you want for supper?"

Ryan swiveled the chair around from where he'd been organizing his cutlery tray. ("I'm bored," he'd said, when Shane had quirked an eyebrow at him.) "What?"

"I said, what do you want for supper?" Shane grabbed his mug from the table and sipped from it. The coffee was long since cold, but movement tics were ingrained, man.

"Uh… I dunno," Ryan said. "I hadn't really thought about it. It's only four-thirty."

Shane blinked. "Well, yeah. When do _you_ start thinking about making dinner?" Ryan didn't answer. "…You don't usually make dinner, do you."

"Not really, dude. Again—"

"Chipotle?"

"Don't judge me." He grinned.

Ryan's eyes were twinkling, and Shane couldn't help but laugh. "You're insufferable. Okay. What've you got? Please tell me you know the contents of your own kitchen."

"Of course I do," Ryan replied, looking slightly affronted. "There's… Well, I mean, there isn't a whole lot, I was actually planning to go shopping when we got back from the shoot and get a few things for the week before we headed out again. I hate leaving food in my fridge when I'm gone."

Shane nodded. "That's fair. So…"

Ryan sat back in the wheelchair and thought. "…I think I've got enough to put together a pizza."

So that's what they'd done. And now, they were chilling on the living room couch, Shane was pulling up the next episode of Stranger Things, and Ryan was settling in at the other end of the couch from him, taking a bite of pizza.

"How are you feeling?" Shane asked, as he navigated the menu.

"Mm, alright," Ryan replied, swallowing. "Felt good to sleep in my own bed, do some work, you know. Got tired pretty fast, and I'm still super sore, but I almost had a normal day?"

Shane nodded to himself. "That's great to hear. No extra pain? No bleeding?"

Ryan shook his head. "Not that I've noticed."

"Awesome." Shane smiled. "Ready?"

"Hit it."

Shane hit play, then sat back and settled in, long legs stretched out in front of him, plate of pizza beside him on the arm of the couch. Ryan, sitting sideways on the couch, leaning back against the other arm, straightened his legs out, and crossed his ankles— setting them directly on top of Shane's thigh. Shane looked over at him quizzically – this wasn't their typical arrangement – but Ryan was looking at the TV and munching on pizza, he wasn't looking at Shane at all. 

Shane rearranged his face into normalcy and looked back at the TV, ignoring the jump in his heart rate. If Ryan didn't think that was odd, then Shane wouldn't bring it up. He probably just needed to stretch his legs, and the couch wasn't that big. It wasn't weird.

He breathed out a sigh, and worried at his lip with his teeth, half his mind on the episode and the other half on how the hell he was going to get Ryan de-invisibled. Could he just add an amendment to the… to the spell? _What was the vocabulary for this_ , it was driving him wild. No, he couldn't do that, he had to cancel something he'd previously said. Or could he make it more specific?

Ryan laughed, and Shane inhaled sharply, realizing he hadn't been paying _any_ attention to the show at all despite his best intentions. He forced a smile, shook himself slightly, and ate more pizza.

* * *

The episode ended. Shane's phone buzzed. He read the text, then looked over at Ryan, who was checking his own phone. "TJ's wondering how you're doing, if you'd be up to a shoot later this week."

Ryan looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe? Need a little more info than that."

Shane waved his phone. "Waitin' on Teej, hang on." The phone buzzed in his hand and he looked back at it, then read off. "One of the locations we were gonna do later this month is cool with us coming in early – it's fully wheelchair accessible, so it'd be easy to do it now while we shuffle the others around."

"Which one?"

"Hollywood Roosevelt."

"Ooooooh," Ryan breathed. " _Fun_."

Shane snorted. "Yeah, can't say I'll complain about spending the night in a four-star hotel instead of our usual digs. He says…hang on, he's typing…he says they can give us the Clark Gable room next Monday night, or…if you're up for it, we can get number nine-twenty-eight on Thursday." Shane heard Ryan suck in a sharp breath, and he looked over. "You okay?"

Ryan's eyes were saucers. "You said nine-twenty-eight? Like, room number nine hundred and twenty-eight?"

Shane blinked at him, then snickered. "Is that a _spooooooky_ room?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Fuck yeah it is, man," Ryan replied, almost sounding breathless. "That's the room Montgomery Clift lived in, it's the most haunted room in the hotel."

Shane snorted. "Of course it is, buddy. I take it you want that one, then?"

"Holy shit yes. I mean, no, that's fucking terrifying, there are so many stories. But _yes_." Ryan was fully sitting up now, instead of leaning back on the arm of the couch. 

Shane started typing, then frowned and stopped. "It's _this_ Thursday. That's the day after tomorrow, Ry." He looked back at Ryan. "You sure you can handle that?"

Ryan didn't answer immediately, holding Shane's gaze, clearly thinking. "…You said it's fully wheelchair accessible?"

"Uh huh," Shane nodded. "They say it is, anyway."

"So… no walking unless I absolutely have to, stairs are not required, and I get a comfy-ass bed. I dunno, man, that sounds pretty stellar."

Shane smirked. "You sure you can handle _scary ghosts_ in your injured state?"

"Shut up, Shane." Ryan grinned. "Tell TJ to book it."

Shane hit send.


	10. Domus Stellas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, long time no see! Apologies for the short unannounced hiatus - I went on vacation, and have since been swamped with school. Grad school's the best. 
> 
> This is the first part of a two-part mini-arc. With any luck, the second part will be up in the next couple of weeks. I have the rest of the fic more or less planned out ... should be at least a dozen more chapters, with three more small arcs leading up to the final act.
> 
> As always, your comments give me life and water my crops, and if you want to chat with me elsewhere, I'm Kaylotta on tumblr so come say hi!

They pulled up to the Hollywood Roosevelt hotel in Ryan's Prius, with TJ already filming in the back seat. "I feel like we should have gotten a limo or something," Ryan joked, looking out the window at the classy front entrance, the stars of the Walk of Fame gleaming in the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I feel a little underdressed," Shane added, looking over from the driver's seat. "Think the ghosts will stoop to interacting with us commoners?"

Ryan snorted and looked over at Shane. "Guess we'll have to find out."

"Nah, because they don't exist," Shane replied, not breaking his gaze from the window. He didn't feel anything from the hotel, even with Ryan's intensity next to him. The past couple days of close contact had resulted in Shane getting used to Ryan's bright presence: he could still feel it, but more as a warm glow than a blinding light. He still hadn't figured out how to make Ryan visible again through the windows of his apartment, but they hadn't had anyone knocking on the door complaining of floating coffee cups, so Shane wasn't worried yet.

...That was a lie. Shane felt like he'd been living in a constant state of worry for the past week. He'd never been the bravest of men, contrary to the persona he adopted for Unsolved: when ghosts didn't exist, there was nothing to be afraid of, right? Except now they definitely did exist. Well— demons did. He hadn't seen any ghosts yet. Maybe those still didn't exist.

He really needed to process all this. He wasn't sure how that was going to happen when he was a _frickin' demon hunter_. Most of his quiet evenings (Ryan was still resting a lot, though he could now move around the apartment without using the wheelchair as long as he spent most of his time sitting) this week had been spent in either the depths of the Internet attempting to do research, or silent contemplation which usually ended in what he guessed were panic attacks. Also, his back hurt like hell from sleeping on Ryan's couch.

"—so it's not that they're just offended by our lack of class."

Ryan's amused voice snapped him back to reality. "What??" Shane said incredulously. "Everyone knows we're the classiest ghost hunters around. I dressed up like Clark Gable. Can't get classier than that."

Ryan wheezed. "Whatever you say, pal."

The light turned green; Shane pulled forward, then swung the car around into the parkade and found the spot they'd been assigned. He hopped out and helped Ryan into the wheelchair before slinging a bag of gear onto his shoulder. "Right," he said, coming up behind the chair again, "what's the plan?"

TJ came up alongside the two of them, camera in hand. "I think we should definitely get some B-roll of you two around the pillars and palm trees. Also there's a ballroom? Please tell me we're spending some time in the ballroom, Ryan."

"Oh yeah," Ryan replied, busily putting batteries into things from the bag on his lap, "we're definitely headed to the ballroom. There are quite a few spots in here I wanna hit. I dunno where we should do the chairs though – we could always do it in 928, but there might be a really awesome spot by the pool or something."

Shane perked up. "I say we check the pool. We can kit your chair out with a fancy umbrella and I'll kick back in a lounger, it'll be hilarious."

Ryan laughed. "Sure. Wanna see if we can get you a martini or something?"

"Ha! Yes! Perfect. How dare you interrupt my vacation with your ghost hunting."

* * *

 

About an hour later, after dropping off some gear in their suite – and Ryan, predictably, already getting slightly spooked – and filming a bit of B-roll, the pair were set up beside the pool in the afternoon sun. They had in fact scored _two_ fancy umbrellas, one of which they'd tied to the back of Ryan's chair: Shane was sitting under the other as he leaned back in a chaise longue that was _almost_ long enough for his legs. He'd brought his sunglasses from the car and a very amused staff member had lent him a Hawaiian shirt from the gift shop; he'd bought a stunningly colourful drink from the poolside bar with yet another fancy umbrella (and not one, but _three_ maraschino cherries) and he was leisurely sipping it through a straw while Ryan, to his left, did his best to look impatient without giggling.

TJ, standing behind the main camera, gave them the thumbs-up, and Ryan launched in. "This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved, we're investigating the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel as part of our ongoing investigation into the question, 'are ghosts real?' "

Shane, looking as bored as he could, slowly tilted his head over to look at the other camera, gave a slow head shake, and sipped his drink.

"The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel opened its doors on May 15, 1927. It is the oldest continually operating hotel in Los Angeles."

"And it's swanky," Shane interjected, "look at this little umbrella."

"Sure is," Ryan agreed. "The original building cost two-point-five million dollars, which is thirty-five million in today's money."

"Wow-ee. That's a lotta dough."

"Only the best for Hollywood's elite, right?"

"Yup," Shane said, popping the p.

"The hotel went into a decline in the 1950s, when a new owner demolished some of the original architecture, covered up the elaborately painted ceilings, and painted the whole thing sea foam green."

Shane looked over at Ryan, appalled. "Sea foam green? _Really?_ Who _does_ that?"

"Hahaha, I dunno man, I mean there's a reason it went into decline. Maybe he liked sea foam green."

"I guess so! Jesus. Sea foam green." He shook his head and went back to his drink.

"Luckily for us—"

"I can't help but notice it's not sea foam green anymore."

"I'm getting there, hold your horses." Shane did his best attempt at a whinny in response. Ryan snorted, then continued. "Luckily for us, Radisson Hotels bought the Roosevelt in 1985, and undertook a _massive_ renovation, using original blueprints and historic photos. They restored the painted ceilings, added a three-tiered fountain, and a mural at the bottom of the pool which alone cost a million dollars. In fact, the renovation cost almost as much as the original cost of the building."

Shane whistled. "Impressive. And they got rid of the sea foam green."

"Yup. Also, that renovation seems to have triggered a _bunch_ of ghostly activity."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "What, ghosts don't like construction?"

"Guess not. In fact, that's a theme in a lot of haunted places – everything was quiet, then something major gets changed and suddenly there's apparitions, cold spots, all sorts of phenomena. Pretty weird."

"All that noise, hammers and saws and shit. You don't like the guy jackhammering the concrete outside your window? Well neither does your ghost neighbour." Shane looked over his sunglasses at the camera briefly. "So this place is supposed to be, what, a who's-who of Hollywood ghosts?"

"Sort of, yeah," Ryan said. "The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel has hosted a _large_ number of residents and guests from America's cultural elite, including Shirley Temple, Charlie Chaplin, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Prince, and even Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie."

"I know for a fact Brad and Angelina are still alive and kicking."

Ryan laughed. "I'm just saying a lot of big names have stayed here. Not all of them are ghosts."

"Maybe one day we'll see Brangelina dancing in the ballroom!" Shane lifted his arms, doing a weird little dance with his torso.

"Shut up Shane." Ryan snickered. "Anyway. Upwards of thirty-five different ghosts have been seen in the halls of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, including Clark Gable & Carole Lombard in the suite named for them, Marilyn Monroe, Errol Flynn, and the most famous ghost, Montgomery Clift."

"Clark Gable! I dressed up as him!" Shane grinned, then flicked his sunglasses down his nose slightly. "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. See, Ryan, I was prescient! I'm psychic!"

"Pffhahaha, sure you are, buddy, sure."

"Now who's the skeptic?" Shane pointed at Ryan with the little umbrella from his drink. "Shane Madej, seer of the future! Oh, oh, I'm getting a vision. Hang on." He closed his eyes and raised the umbrella. "I see ... that there are no ghosts here, because ghosts aren't real, and Ryan will make a fool of himself tonight!" He opened his eyes again, as wide as he could. "I really feel the power of the beyond. No, wait, I think that's the gin."

Ryan was doubled over in his chair, shaking with laughter. He wheezed several times before righting himself, holding a hand over his stomach. "God _dam_ mit, Shane."

Shane dropped the act for a second, looking at Ryan seriously. "You okay? Was that too far?"

Ryan breathed a couple more times before meeting his eyes. "...No, I think we're good. Hoo boy. At least _try_ not to kill me?"

Shane lifted the little umbrella to his brow in a mock salute. "Scout's honour. Only the ghosties will get Ryan Bergara tonight. Meaning you'll come home in one piece, seeing as ghosts aren't real."

"Har har. I feel safer already. Shall we?"

Shane gestured grandly with the umbrella. "Be my guest."

Ryan looked back at the camera. "Tonight, we're going to visit a number of locations within the hotel which are reputed to have serious paranormal activity, including the bar, the ballroom, a specific mirror, and of course, the famed room 928 – which is where we'll be spending the night."

"Until you chicken out." Shane fished a cherry out of his drink and savoured it.

"Not a chance! I haven't chickened out since ... when _was_ the last time? I don't even remember."

"I'm sure the comments will tell us. Hey guys!" Shane looked over at the camera. "When's the last time Ryan ran screaming from a door that opened by itself? What was that? Last week? Oh right! I think it was on your Insta story."

Ryan was laughing again. "Fuck you, dude. No way am I chickening out tonight. Besides, I wouldn't be able to make it down the hall: no running for me."

Shane raised his eyebrows. "That's true! I guess you'll have to convince me to remove you from the situation post-haste should you become, ahem, _excited_."

"Right, right, and I'm pretty sure you'll just stand there and laugh, so—"

"Hahaha, yep, 'Wow Ryan, that sure is a breezy hallway!'"

"You heard it here first folks, if I die tonight it's because Shane didn't help me run away from the ghosts!"

They both cracked up. Once they'd regained their composure, Shane adjusted his sunglasses and looked over the top of them at Ryan. "With which great Hollywood star will we begin our tour?"

"Actually," Ryan said, looking over at Shane, "I thought we'd start with a less famous ghost." He dropped into his theory voice. "It's said that a little girl named Caroline haunts the hotel. She's been seen playing in the lobby, wearing a blue dress, and she calls the security guards on the phone and asks them to play with her."

"Aw, that's sweet!" Shane exclaimed, breaking the tension. "That's cute. That's— that's like little Timmy, back at the hospital. Are we gonna throw her a ball?"

Ryan laughed. "No, she hasn't been reported to interact with anything physical."

"Except the phones?" Shane raised an eyebrow.

"About that... Let me tell you the story." Ryan cleared his throat, and went back into theory mode. "Caroline's ghost became part of the legend of the Roosevelt several years after her and her brother's tragic deaths on the premises.

"The hotel switchboard operator got a call from the public phone in the lobby one day, from a little girl. The girl said, 'I'm looking for my daddy; I can't find my daddy.' The operator replied, 'Wait right there, we'll send a security guard to come get you and we'll find your daddy.' The girl said, 'Tell him to hurry up, because I want to go play!'

"A couple minutes later, the security guard reached the lobby, but there was no one there. He checked the ballroom and the restaurant, behind the bar, and was on the way back to the lobby when the phone rang again. The operator picked it up, and it was the little girl again. She said, 'Did you find my daddy yet?' The operator said, 'No, sweetie, not yet. Could you please stay in one place? The security guard can't find you.'

"The little girl replied, 'I really want to play. Will you play with me?' The operator said, 'No, I'm sorry, I have to work.' The girl shouted into the phone, 'You're ugly!' and—"

Shane burst out laughing. "This girl's got her priorities straight!"

Ryan grinned. "Right? Oh, you don't wanna play with me? Well, you're ugly! How do you like that?!"

"How do you like _them_ apples?" Shane guffawed.

"Anyway, the operator radioed the security guard, and said, 'That little girl's on the lobby phone again,' to which the guard replied, 'That's impossible. There's nobody on that phone. I'm standing right next to it.'"

"Oooooh, _spooky_ ," Shane said.

"Super spooky. Any time she appears in the lobby, she disappears when people approach. People have also claimed to see her brother playing in a Jacuzzi."

"Did you say how she died?"

Ryan started in surprise. "You know, I think I forgot. She, her brother, and her father were staying at the hotel. Her father fell asleep, and she and her brother wandered off to play—"

"Ah, I see, 'where's Daddy', 'I want to play', I get it." Shane nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. Pretty obvious where that's coming from right? She and her brother wandered off to play: she jumped into the pool, her brother jumped in after her, and unfortunately, both of them drowned."

"Oh," Shane said, frowning. "That's really sad."

"Uh huh. Tragic accident."

"...Wait. Ryan." Shane sat up straight and turned to him. "You mean, all this time..."

"What?" Ryan looked at him, clueless. "What are you—"

"We're sitting by the pool, Ryan. Little Caroline could be watching us _right now_." Shane watched with semi-hidden glee as Ryan's face slowly fell, his eyes widening slightly.

"Oh God," Ryan muttered, "I didn't think of that. Fuck, this is suddenly so much creepier."

Shane grinned widely, kicking back in the lounger again, draining his drink. "So where to first, ol' buddy, ol' pal? Wanna go say hi to Errol Flynn?"

Ryan groaned.


	11. Sinite Parvulos Ad Me Venire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I may be bad at estimating how long arcs take. This was supposed to be part 1 of the next chapter but then it turned into 2000 words and I decided fuck it, it can be its own chapter. ahem.

Their first location would be the bar. Shane had to return his glass, of course, and Ryan wanted a drink.

"Yes, Shane, I can have a drink, a bit of alcohol isn't going to kill me." Ryan rolled his eyes as the bartender slid the two pint glasses over to them.

"Just checking, dude, drug interactions are no joke." Shane grabbed the glasses, tipped the bartender, and handed a glass to Ryan. "Wouldn't want you to have to, ah, _truncate_ your night in room 928."

Ryan snickered. "Not a chance. Fair enough, though."

Shane pushed Ryan over to the table where TJ had set up the camera. "A toast to the night, Bergara?" he asked, sitting down across from him.

Ryan furrowed his brow, quizzical. "A toast? To what?"

"I dunno, to us, to Unsolved, to the ghosty-goos. You said Errol Flynn haunts the bar, let's toast him. We have beer, we gotta toast something." Shane heard TJ snicker faintly from the next table, where he was monitoring sound levels.

Ryan laughed. "Sure, I guess so. Errol Flynn is rumoured to have created his recipe for bootleg gin in a tub in the barbershop here."

Shane's eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly. "Seriously? That's bad-ass. Where's the barbershop?"

"In the back, I think? I think it's a staff room now or something, we can't get in there. But people have seen Mr. Flynn at the bar."

"Presumably drinking his bootleg gin."

"One would think."

"We should have gotten gin, Ryan." Shane shook his head.

"An oversight." Ryan grinned. "Next round."

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Bergara?" Shane drew back in mock offense. "How dare you. At least buy me dinner first."

Ryan laughed and sputtered. "No, I — hahaha — we're _staying the night,_ we don't have to —"

"Ryan _Steven_ Bergara _,_ how _dare_ you insinuate these things, I will _have you know_ —"

"Dammit Shane, I'm not —" he spluttered, still laughing — "We don't have to drive anywhere, we can have a couple drinks, that's _all I'm saying_ —"

Shane immediately relaxed, assuming a nonchalant expression. "Oh well if that's all then I guess it's fine." Ryan kept laughing for several seconds, calming down from the bit. "A toast to Errol then?"

Ryan sat up, sighed out a final laugh, and picked up his glass. "Sure, a toast to Errol."

Shane raised his pint. "Errol, may your afterlife be full of strong gin! Here's to a night free of ghostly shenanigans, because as everyone knows, ghosts aren't real. To drinks and good friends and good health!" He saw Ryan looking at him out of the corner of his eye, looking a little bemused.

But Ryan raised his glass all the same. "Good friends and good health!"

They both drank. Shane felt, briefly, like someone was watching him, and he glanced over at the bar, but the bartender had his back turned.

TJ joined them at the table, getting a pint of his own, and the three proceeded to sip their drinks and plan the evening. They couldn't get into the ballroom or the staff areas until nine, so they were stuck for a couple hours.

While they talked, Shane kept getting the distinct feeling of being watched. Ryan and TJ didn't seem bothered at all – they were engaged in conversation about plans for edits, graphics, ideas for post. Shane realized after a moment they were both looking at him. Another conversation ball dropped.

"You okay buddy?" Ryan asked, frowning.

"Hm?" Shane looked over at Ryan. "Oh, sorry. I was just coming up with the next amazing plot twist of the Hot Daga. Momentarily distracted by my own genius. What were you saying?"

TJ was sniggering. Ryan rolled his eyes. "Just asking if you'd have time to do a rough cut for this one. Teej is swamped for the next week or so."

"Yeah, sure," Shane replied. He felt the same weird sensation on the back of his neck and frowned. "Do you guys feel that draft?"

Ryan shook his head. "Nah, man, I don't feel anything. Teej?" The cameraman also shook his head.

Shane shrugged. "Must be sitting at the wrong angle." He shifted his chair, angling it so he could see the door which had been behind him – the doors to the lobby, only a few strides away. Nothing.

"Anyway, if Shane does that, then I can start on the slides for the theory sections, and..." Ryan started into planning again, and Shane rapidly tuned him out, falling back into his own thoughts.

A few minutes later, he had fully zoned out, about halfway through his pint, when he saw movement in the doorway. He didn't quite sit up and take notice – people walked around, it was a hotel, they didn't have the place to themselves (and oh how he would relish that fact when they played recordings back later) – but he did actually focus on the person in the doorway, and what he saw made his eyebrows twitch. It was a little girl, in a little blue dress, which looked sodden.

He groaned internally, and reached out mentally, feeling the array of colours and emotions of the building surround him. Ryan's brightness to his left, TJ's solid maroon across from him, the familiar sounds and hues of kitchen appliances, windows, and plumbing, the minor blips of the other people in the bar and, further out, the hotel.

The girl didn't feel like anything. She just wasn't there. It wasn't a void, but it wasn't a presence. He closed his eyes briefly to focus a bit more, but felt no different. He opened his eyes again, and she was still there. Hadn't moved, not like Molly had. So this was a ghost, then, if he were to make an educated guess.

He glanced over at TJ and Ryan, making sure they were firmly entrenched in conversation, before he looked back over at the little girl. She was still staring at him. He closed his eyes again, imagined himself standing, walking over to her. As he approached, he saw the tiniest hint of a light, like a candle flame behind a heavy veil or thick frosted glass, a little tiny blue light. He turned, and looked over at the bartender: a similar light burned where he stood, but much brighter, tinged yellow,and at the center of what amounted to a sunflower-coloured silhouette. Over to TJ – the same, but a bright red in the maroon shadow.

Shane wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed these little lights before. Maybe he just hadn't been looking. In any case, he guessed they were essentially souls – the seed of the divine that Chaverim had described, God, was it only a week or so ago? – and a ghost was a soul that had indeed gotten trapped.

 _Why are you trapped here?_ he thought, looking back at Caroline. _Why didn't you get to move on?_

 _I can't find my daddy,_ came a tiny voice, _please help me find my daddy._

Shane's heart jumped and started racing, and his eyes flew open. He hadn't at all expected to hear anything in return. Little Caroline was still standing there. He tried thinking to her again. _You can hear me?_

 _Yes. Nobody ever seems to hear me. Please, can you help? Matthew and I can't find our daddy and we want to go home._ Shane could see tears forming in the little girl's eyes. _We don't like it here._

 _Why not?_ he asked. _Isn't it lots of fun? You can play all day._

Caroline shook her head. _The other people here are all sad,_ she said, _and —_ She cut herself off abruptly, looking side to side, like she was afraid of someone seeing her.

_And what? You can tell me, it's okay._

Caroline looked back at him, biting her lip. _Will you help me? And Matthew?_

 _I'll do whatever I can,_ Shane said.

She looked side to side again, then whispered, _The handsome man scares me._ Her voice was barely audible – and it had been damn quiet before.

 _Who's the handsome man?_ Shane asked. _I haven't seen anyone but you._

 _Don't talk so loud!_ She looked like she was about to burst into tears. _He'll hear you!_

 _Sorry, sorry,_ Shane said. _I'm really new to this._ He ... attempted to whisper. Or think about whispering. _Who's the handsome man?_

_The man with the dark eyes. I don't know his name. He never says his name. But he scares me. Please, please help me find my daddy so I can go home._

Shane bit his lip. _Where's your brother?_

Caroline really did start crying. _The handsome man took him away. I haven't been able to find him. Please help._

He sighed. He didn't understand any of this. _I'll look for him._

_Promise?_

_Yes, I promise._ He had no idea if promises to ghosts were binding. He couldn't say no to the little girl, though. _Do you know how to go home?_

She shook her head. _I was asleep in the car when Daddy brought us here. I don't know the way out. And I don't know the way home._

 _Okay._ He closed his eyes again, and thought about his words carefully. _What's your whole name, Caroline?_ He felt a surge of energy from somewhere in the hotel – a deep energy, something he couldn't describe.

Caroline sounded even more scared when she answered. _Caroline Esther Rothstein, sir._

 _Hi, Caroline,_ he said. _I'm Shane Madej. Nice to meet you._ The deep energy pulsed.

Shane filed this away for later thought, and focused on Caroline. He had no idea if this would work, but he figured it was worth a shot. He was supposed to protect, right? That was part of his job. Not just protecting Ryan, but others. He was supposed to cast out demons, and protect the outcasts, or something like that. And Caroline was afraid of something. He didn't know what yet, but maybe he could help anyway. He felt that golden glow welling up inside him, and he instinctively pushed it towards Caroline, drawing it into a sphere around her. It felt difficult for some reason, like it was meeting resistance, but Caroline smiled for the first time and stepped forward into it as it closed around her. Shane could see her little candle flame, now surrounded by a dark sphere within his golden sphere.

 _God Most High,_ he began, _Caroline is lost and afraid. I hear you're the merciful type, especially when it comes to kids._ The gold swelled in brightness, the dark sphere seeming to fade a little. _Please show her the way home._ The dark veil parted – or, really, was sort of wrenched open, as far as Shane could tell. But Caroline was still there.

 _I'm afraid,_ he heard her say, faintly. _What if I get lost? What if the handsome man finds me?_

 _Don't be afraid,_ Shane said, _it'll be okay._ He focused again. _Creator of all, send an angel to keep her safe on her path, and take Caroline Esther Rothstein home to you, where she'll be safe._ These words came out in what felt like a gust of wind, and he felt his body surge with warmth as, at the same time, the golden sphere grew blindingly bright – and then, as the light died down, he saw the tiny little blue flame fading away too, and he opened his eyes just in time to see little Caroline smiling and waving as she, too, faded from his sight.

 _Thank you, Mr. Madej._ The words were like whispers in the wind.

" —what _are_ you thinking about over there, man?" Ryan said.

Shane jumped and spun to face him. "Um," he started, "I —"

"You're acting weird tonight," Ryan said, frowning. "You okay?"

"You can't _just_ be thinking about the Hot Daga," TJ said, smiling faintly. Giving him an out, Shane could see. Thank God for TJ Marchbank, yet again.

"Ha ha, very funny," he replied. "Spinning a yarn as masterfully as the Hot Daga takes concentration!"

"And tears? Are you bringing yourself to _tears_ , Shane Madej?" Ryan said, picking up the bit.

Shane touched his face. Sure enough, he had shed a couple of tears. "This next arc really tugs on the heartstrings, Bergara. Just because _you_ can't appreciate the deep emotional impact of the Hot Daga doesn't mean it isn't genuine."

Ryan laughed into his glass. Shane looked over at the door again, and felt for the deep energy that had pulsed in the background as he had...prayed, for lack of a better term. It seemed to have gone.

He didn't like it.


	12. Lucis et Speculi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently writing these Unsolved eps works out to four chapters or so per episode. Well then.

After they had drained their pints (and ordered and devoured a plate of the fanciest nachos they'd ever Instagrammed), it was past nine and time to really get to work.

They headed into the staff-only areas. Ryan and Shane led the way down the hallway, with Shane pushing Ryan's chair, and TJ came up behind them with the camera. "Who's down here?" Shane asked.

"Marilyn Monroe," Ryan said, looking for the nameplate on the door that would tell them they had the right room.

"What? Really?" Shane said. "She didn't die here. That doesn't make sense."

"Well—" Ryan began, glancing over his shoulder at Shane, " _she's_ not here. But apparently you can see her in a mirror. Possibly. It _might_ be her."

"Lotsa qualifiers in there, Ry guy."

"Here it is." They stopped in front of a door, the plaque beside it reading "general manager", and Ryan looked up at Shane. "Haunting isn't exactly an exact science."

Shane laughed. "It isn't science at all!"

TJ opened the door and took the lead in, spinning around to film the ghoul boys entering the room.

"It's just science we don't understand yet!" exclaimed Ryan. "We didn't know what calculus was until the 1800s or whatever but it still existed!"

"I don't think that's quite the parallel you think it is," Shane retorted, looking around the room. "So why is Ms Monroe here? Again, not where she died..." He thought about Caroline, in her soaking wet dress. Surely you had to die in a place to leave your soul there.

"No, but she spent quite a bit of time here. She filmed several advertising campaigns on the premises, and she had a preferred room. Number 246." Ryan had flicked his flashlight on and was scanning the room.

"Which is now the general manager's room...?" inquired Shane, raising an eyebrow.

"No, room 246 is still room 246. The mirror is here." Ryan's flashlight reflected off the mirror in question, which hung on the wall in the corner of the room. "They moved it after she died."

Shane pushed Ryan in towards the mirror, navigating around the desk and chairs. As they approached, he could see Ryan was getting the spirit box out of his bag. He scoffed. "We're doing the box, Ryan? In this little room? Do you want me to go deaf?"

Ryan looked over his shoulder at him. "Uh, yeah? We talked about this, dude. She's a film star, it stands to reason she'd be familiar with recording technology, so we're gonna do an EVP session and a spirit box session."

Shane scowled slightly. "I don't think that logic is sound, Bergara. And when did we talk about this?"

Ryan frowned. "While we were having drinks...?"

Shane blinked. He didn't remember...oh. The entire conversation he hadn't been paying any attention to while helping Caroline. "Right! Yes. I remember now. I must have repressed that memory in the hopes that I wouldn't have to think about that goddamned box."

Ryan was still frowning. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't seem like yourself."

Shane bit the inside of his lip. Time for a truth-lie. "I dunno what's up. Just distracted I guess." He made a show of shaking his shoulders out and taking a deep breath. "Sorry, Ryan. I'm with you."

Ryan reached up and put his hand on Shane's forearm. "You sure? We can pause if you need to."

Shane barked a short laugh. "Pause if _I_ need to? Oh, how the tables have turned. I should be telling _you_ that, not the other way around." He shook his head. "No, let's not stop. I'm just distracted. We're gonna be up late...I'll grab a coffee or something after we film this bit, before we go to the ballroom. Maybe that'll help." He crossed his fingers mentally that the ballroom was indeed where they were going next.

Ryan looked at him for a second longer, then nodded. "Okay. Sounds good. Ready to get back to it?"

He nodded firmly. "Yessir. Let's check out this mirror."

Ryan turned back to the wall, shining his flashlight around the edges of the mirror. TJ moved in behind him and to his right, getting a good shot of the two of them looking at the mirror (complete with reflection, of course). "Marilyn Monroe asked for this mirror to be provided specifically for her while she was staying at the hotel, for no particular reason other than she liked it."

"That's nice of them," Shane remarked, "though I suppose she was probably paying them a pretty penny."

Ryan snickered. "Probably. Good advertising, I imagine, if Marilyn Monroe is a happy repeat customer."

"No kidding."

"After she died, a maid named Suzanne Leonard was dusting when she saw a blonde woman standing behind her..." Ryan flashed the light into the mirror for effect. "But when she turned around, no one was there."

Shane waggled his fingers behind Ryan. "Spooky."

"Yep." Ryan lifted the spirit box. "So we're gonna try to chat with Marilyn, and then take some pictures with our fancy new camera for this season. Ready?"

Shane shuddered dramatically. "God, no. I hate this thing. But if you must..."

Ryan grinned and flipped the box on. The awful static came screaming out of the speaker, and for just a moment Shane saw three pools of white noise in the shape of a face flash through his mind. He gripped the handles of Ryan's chair, feeling his heart jump and his adrenaline spike.

He forced himself to breathe, reaching out mentally, feeling for anything nearby. He saw the spirit box as a messy amoeba-shaped sparkler, flickering in and out, in sharp contrast to the clean lines and silhouettes of people and energy he'd gotten used to seeing. If anything _was_ around, they'd either be drawn to this monstrosity, or utterly repelled by it. He didn't feel anything else around yet – or see anything. Just Ryan and TJ, and the stupid messy spirit box that made him feel like he had cotton in his brain. So, you know, there could totally be something there and he'd never be able to tell. Great!

"Marilyn!" Ryan's voice brought him back to the real world. "If you're here, we'd like to talk to you. We just wanna say hi. Can you say hello through this little box?"

Silence. Well, relative silence. Shane spoke before Ryan could jump in again – needed to look involved. "Ms Monroe? I promise we're not paparazzi, we're only going to put you on the internet for everyone to hear."

Ryan laughed. "Shane, shut up, you're terrible. Marilyn? If you're there, can you please say your name?"

Still nothing. Shane looked at Ryan in the mirror. "Did the maid ever confirm it was Marilyn Monroe she saw?"

Ryan shook his head. "Just a blonde woman. It's theorized to be Marilyn because the mirror was from her room."

"It could be anyone, then."

"Yeah."

"Maybe whoever it is is tired of being mistaken for Marilyn. They just wanna be seen for who they really _are._ "

Ryan looked surprised. "Are you psychoanalysing ghosts, Shane 'ghosts aren't real' Madej? Am I hearing this right?"

Shane scoffed. "Tough season so far for you Boogaras. And we gotta get you back up on your feet, give you something to hope for!"

Ryan snorted and laughed. "Uh huh. Sure. You'd rather see me fall flat on my face."

Shane grinned. "The higher the hopes the harder the fall, baby."

"I always knew you cared."

"I care about getting this damn spirit box session over with."

Ryan cracked up. "Alright alright." He paused, then looked around the room. "If anyone is here with us, please say your name."

A slow moment passed. Shane suddenly felt like something was creeping up the back of his neck. He clamped down on the shudder that ran through him, and felt again for the energy in the room. There wasn't much more. A faint, faint shadow of something. He looked at the mirror, and thought he could see something just over his shoulder – a smudge of black.

"Hel— man— took— go—" sputtered the spirit box. Shane felt like he could hear a soft whisper in his ear, but the box's clamour was overwhelming.

"Sorry, what was that?" Ryan said, squinting at nothing. "Can you say one of our names?"

"Belo—ved—n—"

Shane's blood ran cold. He could feel a cold finger on the back of his bare forearm, and he could see a faint smudge of black in that same spot in his reflection in the mirror.

"Belvedere?" Ryan furrowed his brow. "Bit of an odd name. Maybe it's a last name."

"Or you're making words out of nothing," Shane said, fighting to keep the tremble out of his voice as he stared at the shadow over his shoulder. "How did you die, oh friendly spirit?"

"Mob—" Shane felt the deep energy swell again in the background. The shadow flickered, the cold lessened, and the spirit box went to straight static.

"Holy shit, a mob hit? Christ," Ryan breathed.

"Old-timey mobsters probably loved this place. Are you surprised?" Shane put on a gruff accent. "Put my girlfriend in your film or we'll put you in concrete shoes and throw ya in the bay!"

Ryan laughed and turned the spirit box off, throwing the room into blessed silence – though Shane could still see the faint shadow in the mirror. "I think that's enough of that," he said, "let's take some pictures."

Shane lifted the camera, which was hanging around his neck, and took it off, handing it to Ryan. "I dunno how to work the settings on this thing," he said, "seeing as they're full of crap." _And if I look too closely at the mirror I'm gonna look even weirder in the footage than I already do,_ he thought.

Ryan rolled his eyes and traded Shane the spirit box for the camera. Shane grimaced at the box and handed it comically to TJ, who smirked and put it in the crate of gear he'd left on the table. Meanwhile, Ryan had flicked the camera on and was carefully selecting settings. "Alright, you poor mob-killed soul," he said, "do you mind if we get you on camera?"

Shane could feel the shadow slipping away. He was beginning to feel warmer, and the background energy was also fading. Even if this camera wasn't bullshit, he doubted Ryan was going to get a decent photo.

Ryan raised the camera and took a picture of the mirror (and, by extension, the two of them). He then turned in his chair, snapping a couple photos of the room at large – though Shane heard rather than saw this, as the flash had rather blinded him. "Okay, Shane, back me up, I want a picture of the space in front of the mirror.

"Hang on a sec, I can't see, you've blinded me," Shane complained, blinking the lights out of his eyes. He couldn't feel anything out of the ordinary anymore.

 _Leave,_ came a whisper in his ear. He twitched. His vision cleared, and sure enough he and Ryan were alone in the mirror. He exhaled slowly and backed Ryan up into the center of the room, where he snapped another photo of the mirror from further away (and Shane was smart enough to close his eyes this time).

"Awesome," Ryan said, "I think it's time to head to the ballroom."


	13. Micans in Tenebris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second-last chapter of the arc. Next one might even be up this week!

The ballroom was large. It wasn't _huge_ , Shane thought, just large: open, dark, and a solid two storeys high. At the moment, it was also completely empty. Usually there were somewhere around fifteen round tables set out, for various functions: not now. Now, it was barren. For cleaning, he assumed, which was probably why they could get in here in the first place.

It was also _cold_. He had indeed gotten himself a coffee before joining TJ and Ryan in the ballroom, and he held it close, the warmth seeping into his hands a comfort as he glanced between the dark corners of the large room. The room _did_ creep him out, it was true, but he couldn't tell if it was because he was actually feeling something, or because he'd been getting progressively more anxious as the evening went by. That background energy he'd felt while helping Caroline and watching the ghost in the mirror wasn't present – as far as he could tell – but he still felt on-edge. He looked over at Ryan, who was rubbing his upper arms. Dude hadn't brought a sweater; he was just in a t-shirt. Neither of them had thought he'd need one. "You cold?" Shane asked, walking up beside the wheelchair.

"Yeah, man, it's chilly in here. Aren't you cold?" Ryan looked up at him. Shane still wasn't quite used to Ryan being _that_ far down. TJ, who had been filming a wide shot as Shane entered, approached and switched to a closer focus.

He could play this one of two ways. He could say he wasn't cold, reinforce the "there's nothing weird happening" angle. Or he could subvert it: yes, he was cold, therefore cold was normal. That was probably the way to go, he thought. "Yeah, actually, I am cold. Coffee's helping, though," he said, lifting the cup and taking a sip. "It's probably hell to heat this room evenly. Also, if they did heat it to comfortable temperatures while it's _empty_ , imagine how bad it would get when they had events! All the people? It'd be stifling."

Ryan half nodded, acquiescing. "That's a fair point. I wonder how many cold spots across all paranormal documentation are just—"

"Bad heating? Or even _efficient_ heating?"

Ryan laughed. "Yeah! I mean, it's one thing to _suddenly_ get cold, or have one weird spot—"

"Those are called _drafts_ , Ryan—"

"Nooo, no, no, don't give me that," Ryan said, pointing at Shane accusatorily. "I know what a breeze feels like, and cold spots don't feel like breezes."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you've felt a cold spot before? That _wasn't_ a dog's nose, or you freaking out and losing control of your internal temperature regulation?"

Ryan just laughed again. "Well, no, I haven't _personally_ felt anything I'd call a cold spot – I mean, there've been rooms that weren't the temperature I would think they should be, but – dammit Shane, I know what a breeze feels like!"

"Mm hmm." Shane grinned, glancing at the camera and winking. "And toothpaste doesn't obey the laws of gravity."

"Ahaha, oh fuck you man!" Ryan rolled himself back and forth slightly in his chair, looking around the ballroom. "The history of this room is intense. Did you know the first Academy Awards were held in this room?"

"Wow, no, I don't think I actually knew that!" Shane said, walking forward a bit, looking around. "Why can't we ever look at these places with the lights on, Ryan?"

Ryan snorted. "Mood, obviously. But, man, can you imagine this place lit up like the Haunted Mansion? Glowing ghost couples twirling on the carpet, all the glitz and glamour of 1920s Hollywood...oh no, you're dancing again."

Shane had indeed started dancing, arms out in exaggerated fashion, swirling himself around in something approaching a waltz step. "Well, I mean, we seem to have a tradition of waltzing on location—" he twirled around Ryan's chair— "but it's tough to dance in a wheelchair, so I'm dancing with a ghost instead."

Ryan looked at him incredulously, swiveling his head around to follow Shane. "This is a tradition?"

"Why not?" Shane spun around one last time and struck a humourous pose, arms akimbo, one leg out in front of him, some odd variation of jazz hands. "The dancing ghost hunters."

"You're ridiculous," Ryan replied, smirking. "Utterly ridiculous."

"More ridiculous than ghost hunting? I think not," Shane retorted, standing up and coming back over to the chair. "I have to keep up with you somehow."

"I feel like you're plenty ridiculous, Mr. 'I think it'd be neat to get eaten by vultures'—"

"Pshhh, post-mortems don't count."

"Oh, _well_ then—"

"I mean, if you're an orb guy now—"

"I am not an orb guy!"

"If you're gonna start seeing orbs, I'm going to lose my status as the most ridiculous ghost hunter out there, and I can't have that."

"You're insane."

"You believe in ghosts."

"You _don't_ believe in ghosts!"

"And that brings us back to the raison d'être of Buzzfeed Unsolved, folks: ghosts aren't real; change my mind." He grinned into the camera, TJ silently snickering behind it. "What's supposed to happen in this _very empty ballroom_ , Ryan?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Well, there's supposed to be a cold spot somewhere, but reports are … _inconsistent_ , to say the least, and paranormal researchers have scoured the place with temperature readings and haven't found anything, so I think this particular cold spot is, like we guessed, just the heating. People have also reported hearing piano music when no one is around, and figures in tuxedos appearing and disappearing." He paused, and looked around the room, a little sheepishly. "And … apparently lights appear and dance around the room, and … there are lots of orbs."

Shane let out a sharp laugh. "I _knew_ it!"

"Shut up! I have to report what people say, it doesn't mean I _believe_ it—"

"Orrrrb guyyyyyy!" Shane taunted, waggling his fingers. "You're an _orb guy!_ This makes it official!"

"It most certainly does not!" Ryan looked affronted. "In fact I will volunteer to get locked in first!"

"Why, so you can be alone with the _orbs_?" Shane grinned.

Ryan sputtered. "No, so I can—fuck, I dunno—my reputation's at stake here! I will see no orbs! Orbs do not exist!"

Shane looked at the camera again. "Somebody gif that, please, and edit in 'ghosts', I will retweet the hell out of you."

"You are _insufferable_."

"You're about to sit in an empty, pitch-black ballroom for three minutes." Shane had posted on a shit-eating grin, but truth be told, he really wasn't feeling it. He couldn't argue with Ryan and go first: he usually did lock-ins first, but Ryan _volunteering_ would bring _fantastic_ viewer engagement. It was a shame. He didn't trust this hotel. He couldn't feel anything weird yet, but, well, he was about to leave Ryan alone. With ghost-hunting equipment. Which did indeed seem to attract spirits.

"Y-yeah, well..." Ryan looked like he was deflating slightly, and he glanced around the room.

"Room's too big for us to tie a rope to the chair. You can't run. How fast can you wheel that chair, bud?" Shane raised an eyebrow. "No backing out early on this one, Ry-guy. You're stuck with the ghosties … and the _orbs_ ," he completed, breaking the slight tension.

Ryan's eyes were getting wider. "I regret this decision so much."

* * *

It took them a few minutes to get everything securely attached to the wheelchair. Ryan had an EVP detector, the spirit box, and no less than three cameras attached on monopods at different angles. Ryan had been slowly getting more and more nervous as the minutes ticked by, and Shane had, in turn, been working steadily harder to hide his own nervousness. He still couldn't feel anything. The ballroom was empty, as far as he could tell. He hadn't had a chance to really reach out and feel the energy in the room, but nothing was tickling the back of his neck, and that was all he could ask for.

The thought had crossed his mind that he might have to scope out locations in advance from now on. Like he had time for that. He finished securing the last camera and stood up, looking down at Ryan. "There you go. All set. Three minutes from when we close the door. You ready?"

"God no," Ryan replied, eyes wide. "This place is giving me the creeps. I feel like someone's watching me."

Shane felt a slow, cold shiver drip down his spine. He tried to dismiss it as nerves, but it felt too directional. Too focused. Like Molly had run her finger down his back. He shook himself mentally, and grinned at Ryan. "I'm staring straight at you, so's TJ, and two of those three cameras attached to your chair point at you, too. You're most definitely being watched, but only by us living creepazoids."

Ryan laughed weakly. "TJ's no creep."

"That's true. You only ran away screaming from him in your Instagram story for effect." Ryan's responding laugh was a little stronger. "You ready? Three minutes. Only a hundred and eighty seconds."

"What time is it?"

Shane checked his watch. "About twenty to eleven. No witching hour here. That's later. In 928." He gave a creepy grin.

"Oh fuck you." Ryan took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. Let's get this over with."

Shane saluted cheekily, then turned on his heel and led the way out of the room. He and TJ would wait just outside the main entrance. As he walked across the room, he passed underneath one of the chandeliers, and immediately felt like he'd been drenched in cold water. He shuddered involuntarily, and tossed a glance over his shoulder—thank God, TJ had been filming Ryan while walking away, so that unfortunate self-betrayal had not been caught on camera. Ryan looked way too damn small, sitting in that chair, surrounded by cameras. Shane felt _wrong_ , leaving him there, but he had no choice. And no time to do anything.

The thick wooden door closed behind TJ as they exited the ballroom, and Shane leaned back against it. He crossed his arms, made a show of looking at his watch, then at the camera. "Three minutes ... _mark_." He let a few seconds pass, then started rambling. Some of this would end up in the episode, but _all_ of it would distract him from his nerves. "Wonder how he's doing in there. Probably feels like it's been forever already. We didn't leave him a light, did we?" Shane paused. TJ thought, then shook his head. "No? Just the camera lights. God, he's going to be a gibbering wreck. Bet you anything his eyes'll play tricks on him within a minute." He turned, put his ear to the door, and listened for a couple seconds. "Too thick to hear anything through. ... Well, maybe if he turns the spirit box on."

He let another few seconds pass, then turned back to the camera, and checked his watch. Ryan was forty-five seconds in. He opened his mouth to speak, and felt the unmistakable static of the spirit box grate on his senses. Ryan must have turned it on. Judging from TJ's lack of expression, though, it wasn't audible, so Shane shouldn't know either. "I wonder if he's brave enough to actually use the spirit box," he mused, raising an eyebrow. "That racket, bouncing around in that big empty room? How would you even hear if anyone said something?" He could feel the interference like he was chewing tin foil. Maybe he'd actually have to mysteriously sabotage it – it was giving him a headache.

The deep energy surged into sharp existence between one breath and the next, and Shane felt his stomach drop. No, no, _no_ , not now, he couldn't _do anything_ , he couldn't even _check properly_ , he had to keep looking at the camera and pretend nothing was wrong. Ryan was in there. Ryan was in there with whatever was making that background energy, Ryan was _calling it with the stupid fucking spirit box_ —

Shane forced himself to take a deep breath, and he checked his watch again. A minute thirty. "No screaming yet. Is that a _good_ sign, do you think?" He felt the spirit box shut off, and his shoulders relaxed. Hopefully not enough to be caught on camera. And if the spirit box had shut off, presumably Ryan had _turned_ it off, so he wasn't...dead. Or anything worse. Hopefully.

"You know," he said, tilting his head, "I dunno why people would be so afraid of the ghosts here. I mean – piano music? People dancing? What's so scary about that? They're just having a good time. Dancing the night away. Dancing the _afterlife_ away. That's great!" The deep energy was beginning to feel overwhelming. It hadn't gone away when the spirit box had turned off, and it was beginning to feel disturbingly like the whole ballroom was full of something absolutely dreadful. Shane's heart was racing, it felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. _I can't protect him from here, we can't do lock-ins like this anymore, I have to be with him, this isn't safe, I have to protect him._ His breathing was getting shorter and quicker. Another panic attack, he suspected, unless he managed to calm himself down. _It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you,_ his brain supplied.

He looked down at his watch. Two-forty. Close enough. He couldn't take this anymore. "Five...four...three...two...one," he counted down. "Let's go rescue him, eh?" He turned, pulled the door open, lifted a flashlight and turned it on, trying to steel himself for whatever was on the other side—

Which was just Ryan, sitting in the middle of the ballroom, exactly where they'd left him. Shane's heart jumped. Nothing _seemed_ wrong, but what if he'd just keeled over for some reason, died of fright, or what if when he approached something would swoop out of the shadows and steal him? He strode in, calling out, "That's three! You alive in there?"

Ryan lifted a hand and waved. _Oh thank God,_ Shane thought. "Y-yeah, I'm alive, holy shit that was terrifying," Ryan stuttered out as they walked up to him. "I swear I heard voices. And music. And something moved in the shadows over there—" He pointed to a corner.

Shane flashed his light into it: just an empty corner. "You're in a massive pitch-black room, Ryan, your eyes are playing tricks on you." He turned back to him and forced a grin. "Can't wait to watch all that footage though, I bet it'll be a riveting new episode of 'Ryan's afraid of the dark'."

"Ha. Very funny. We'll see how happy _you_ are after _your_ three minutes." Ryan exhaled heavily. "This place is fucking creepy."

"You made it, though," Shane said, squatting down at the front corner of the chair and looking up at Ryan. "You okay?"

Ryan took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "...Yeah, I'm okay. Just shaken. Again – fucking creepy."

Shane smiled, letting it fully reach his eyes in the crinkly way that he knew calmed Ryan down and made him feel like it wasn't a big deal that he was afraid. The way that reminds him that Shane doesn't actually think he's an idiot. "Glad you're okay. Wouldn't want you to have two awful shoots in a row."

"Ha!" Ryan laughed and cracked a grin. _There we go,_ Shane thought, _now we're good._ "Don't count that out just yet, we still gotta sleep here."

"Eh, it's better than the Lizzie Borden house, right? Nobody _died_ in room 928." Shane shrugged.

"I mean... I guess," Ryan said, clearly dubious.

Shane popped back up to standing, and surveyed the wheelchair. "I gotta get the harness for these cameras, right?"

* * *

A couple minutes later, Shane was fully strapped into all the gear, and felt even more unwieldy than he usually did. He scowled humourously at the camera, waved his arms and made the cameras sway on their glorified selfie-sticks. "I feel like Doctor Octopus in this get-up," he groused.

Ryan laughed as he wheeled himself out of the ballroom. It wasn't as quick as when Shane pushes him, but Ryan's pretty damn built, so it's not slow either. TJ waved as the door closed, and then Shane was in the dark.

God, it was dark. Within seconds, he was seeing weird spots of light as his eyes malfunctioned while trying to give him visual information. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and looked at where he _thinks_ the front camera is. (He was a few degrees off, but it would look fine.) "Welp, here we are," he said, "start the countdown."

He started to walk a bit, one arm out in front of him to make sure he didn't accidentally hit a wall. "Any ghosties here tonight?" he asked aloud. "Anybody here to dance? Make some music? Wanna go for a whirl with me? I'm a decent dancer, or so I'm told."

Without any warning, he once again felt like he'd been plunged into an ice bath. He wondered if he'd happened to walk under the same chandelier. He immediately stopped walking – once Ryan and TJ came back, he'd be able to figure out if it was the same one. "Helloooooo," he called, "anybody home? Show yourselves, you cowards!"

The deep energy swelled, and Shane's heart sank. _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ he thought. _Goddamn it._ "I'm going to be quiet for a minute," he said, "so ... if you wanna say anything, now's the time. Got a few semi-decent microphones here. The big boss even let us splurge on a _nice_ one, it's up over my head, you can talk into that one if you wanna be real crystal clear." He took a deep breath. "Shutting up now. Do try to kill me. Or play me a tune. I'm good either way."

He fell into silence, and finally let himself reach out into the energy of the room. He closed his eyes instinctively (not that it mattered, he couldn't see anything anyway), and felt somehow like a dark veil had fallen over him. Everything felt muffled. He couldn't see anything, even here. He turned on the spot, looking for...

Oh bloody hell, Ryan was like the Luxor Sky Beam. Well, that was clearly the door. He needed to figure out a way to hide Ryan while they were out of the apartment. Could he bless an amulet or something? How the hell would he get Ryan to wear it without it being weird? Augh, he could tear his hair out, this was so infuriating—

There was someone in the corner.

_There was someone in the corner._

He could see a distinct shape in the muffled darkness. He snapped his eyes open. But surely he wouldn't be able to see—

...There was someone in the corner.

A white man, about Ryan's height, with short dark brown hair – well-coiffed, waxed into a low pompadour, parted on the far right – wearing an iron gray suit with a white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, no tie. He was handsome, his jaw slanted and his chin well-defined, a long straight nose and thick low eyebrows— and black eyes.

Shane felt distinctly unsettled looking at the man. He wasn't doing anything – just standing in the corner, maybe twenty or thirty feet from Shane, looking back at him. But Shane could _see_ him, and given how dark the room was, he shouldn't have been able to.

He looked nothing like Caroline, or the shade in the mirror. Caroline and the shade had been translucent – Caroline less so than the smudge in the mirror, but she hadn't quite looked corporeal. This man ... this man looked solid and real – except for the eyes.

He swallowed, then began to speak. "That was a minute! Plenty of time to talk. I'll listen back to the whole lot of nothing I got later, I'm sure Ryan will hear my shoes on the carpet and flip his shit. In fact, why don't I do some more walking? Maybe you guys are more talkative over in the other corner!"

He backed up, not taking his eyes off the man in the corner. The man didn't move. Shane made it back to what he thought was probably the center of the room or so, and stopped. "You know," he said, "you guys have really not come out to play tonight. It's been positively boring! Whatever happened to all the glitz and glamour of Hollywood! Where my ghostly movie stars at? Y'all clearly don't know how to have fun in the afterlife – oh wait, you don't exist!" He laughed, too loud and too brash, fake even to his own ears. He'd lost count of the seconds, but he must have been over two minutes by now. Surely any second now the door would open and—

Was that another face, to his right?

Did he dare look?

What was that on his left?

He swallowed. He hadn't thought about what to do if he ever had to deal with more than one ... thing ... at once.

Suddenly, the room blazed with light. Shane flinched back, winced, and blinked without meaning to. The man wasn't in the corner anymore.  Shane looked around, frantically, only to find that he was surrounded by people, all smiling and laughing, all wearing tuxedos and long dresses with ruffles and flounces at the bottom, the ladies' hair done up in chignons and beehives and braids, gold and silver and gems glinting in the light from the chandeliers, which were brightly aflame. He could hear music, and when he looked he saw a string quintet in the corner – with the handsome man at the piano.

Shane looked straight at him, brought his fingers up to his eyes and then pointed them at him, in the universal gesture for "I am watching you, do _not_ try any shit", and he stepped forward, between two pairs of dancing couples—

And the room was pitch black again. The man was no longer there, and all the energy was gone. The room was completely empty: no people, no music, no light. Shane ground his teeth together. That would have all been on camera – even if he'd been hallucinating, the camera would have seen his reaction. This was going to take some explaining.

The door opened on the far side of the room, and Shane heard Ryan's voice call out. "You okay in there?"

He swallowed, eyes still trained on the corner where the man had been standing, and called back. "Yeah! No ghosties here. I got my three minutes of meditation for the day!" His voice sounded strained, to his own ears. He wondered if Ryan could tell.

As he walked over to the door (noticing on the way by that he probably had indeed walked under the same chandelier twice, though he didn't get the ice bath this third time), he saw that both Ryan and TJ looked worried. "What's up? Did you guys get a spook out here?" He grinned.

"Well, actually..." Ryan started, glancing at TJ, who looked back at him. "We both thought we heard music coming from in there."

Shane frowned. "Uh, nope." He shook his head. "No music. Silent as the grave."

"You sure?" Ryan said. "Sounded like strings and a piano."

"Nuh uh," Shane said, starting to unbuckle all the cameras. "Dark and quiet. Maybe the bar has an event going on or something?"

Ryan looked skeptical. "It'd still be playing if that were the case."

Shane shrugged. "Private function? Door opened, you heard some music, door closed?"

Ryan and TJ exchanged a look. "Well, I did think I heard a door..."

Shane grinned. "There you go. Perfectly logical explanation. I'm sure if we asked, we'd find out someone was having a, a, I dunno, a bat mitzvah or something. You hire a string quintet for a bat mitzvah, right?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I don't think so."

Shane was already packing cameras into the gear crate. "C'mon, let's go set up the Ouija board in 928 so TJ can go home, man."

Ryan still looked bothered. Privately, Shane couldn't blame him.

This was going to be a hell of a night. _Possibly_ , Shane thought with a groan, _literally so._


	14. Vigilo Tenebris Oculi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE

Fifteen minutes later, as they made their way to room 928, Shane's nerves were frayed, and he'd worried his lower lip sore. The coffee had really had the opposite effect as desired: now he was just jittery. Of course, it didn't help in the slightest that the front desk had been puzzled by their inquiry: there were no private functions being hosted that night, and no live music. Ryan looked even more bothered than before, and TJ had been wearing a vaguely concerned scowl for the past ten minutes. The trio were quiet as they approached the door of their suite, which was …

"It's not flashy, is it?" Shane said, coming to a stop just outside the door and reaching into his pocket for the keycard. "No nameplate or anything."

Ryan, just in front of him in the wheelchair, shook his head. "It's not named after him, not like the Clark Gable suite."

Shane pulled the key card from his pocket and ran it through the door lock. He swung the door open and felt his blood run cold. Well, if he hadn't already been pretty sure who he was coming to find up here, now he was dead certain.

Ha. Terrible joke.

The door opened into a little hallway, with a closet on the right and a mirror on the wall to the left. Shane stepped in, and held the door for Ryan to wheel himself in, TJ following. Closing the door behind TJ, Shane then took the handles of Ryan's chair and started further in. Beyond the closet, there was a sort of desk – a telephone table, basically – and then the bathroom, straight ahead on the end of the hallway.

Shane pivoted Ryan to the right, entering the bedroom area of the suite. It wasn't a large room; most of the space was taken up by the king-size four-poster bed, dark wood spindles and clean white sheets. It was a corner room, and had two windows – one at the foot of the bed, and one on the wall directly across from the entrance hall. There was a small grey-green couch at the foot of the bed which spanned its length, and a similarly upholstered armchair in the corner, at the bottom-right of the bed. Under the window across from the bed was a small desk, with a mini-bar underneath – probably well-stocked and ridiculously expensive.

"Oof, this is gonna be a tight fit," Ryan said, looking around. "This isn't really made for a wheelchair."

Shane frowned. "Not so much, no. Think you can move around enough to, like, chill on the couch or something?"

Ryan thought for a moment. "Yeah, probably. I've been pretty relaxed today, and we'll sleep soonish."

"Will we?" Shane said with a grin. "You sure?"

"Shut up, Shane," Ryan fired back. Shane locked the brakes on the wheelchair, and Ryan stood up carefully, walking over to the couch and sitting down. "Oh, this is comfy," he said. "Alright, you guys set up, I'll supervise."

Shane laughed and stowed the wheelchair in the closet.

* * *

A few minutes later, they had all the cameras set up, and the door closed behind TJ's retreating form. Just Shane, Ryan, and the ghosts – which hadn't shown up yet. The boys were sitting on the couch, with a camera trained on them.

"Shall we?" Ryan asked. Shane nodded. Ryan looked at the camera, grinned, and started into the next spiel of the night. "Welcome to room 928, the room reputedly haunted by Montgomery Clift. The Hollywood actor lived in this room for three months in 1952, while filming the movie _From Here to Eternity_. He spent his time in this room learning lines, and practicing his trumpet skills."

"...Did he play trumpet in the movie?" Shane said, looking at Ryan quizzically.

Ryan blinked. "I ... God, I actually don't know. I was so blown away by the thought of him playing trumpet in here that I didn't even think to look it up. He was nominated for Best Actor for the film, I know that much."

"But not Best Trumpet."

Ryan laughed. "No, I don't think so! Maybe that's what he's annoyed about. Eternally unappreciated for his trumpet skills."

"So do people hear him playing trumpet?" Shane asked, tilting his head. "Otherwise why would you mention it?"

Ryan nods. "Indeed they do. Apparently, he prefers to practice in the hallway: that's where most of the trumpet playing is heard. Here in the room, though, there's been full apparitions, unseen presences touching people, people reporting feeling like they're being watched, and plenty of interference with electronics."

"Montgomery's a busy guy!"

"Sure is. The turnover rate for housekeeping assigned to this room is _really_ high. Montgomery seems to really like messing with them."

"Ugh, that's not cool. Respect the people who change the sheets on your bed, guys." Shane looked at the camera and shook his head.

"Right? That's just rude," Ryan agrees. "He doesn't just bother housekeeping, though: there's a story of a husband and wife who stayed the night in this room – the wife was up reading, while her husband was already asleep... she felt him pat her on the shoulder, and she turned to say goodnight to him, but—"

"He was still asleep?" Shane guessed.

"Got it in one."

"Creepy."

"Yup. But one of the most detailed stories about room 928 is that of Peter James, a psychic who spent the night here in this very room." Ryan slipped into his theory voice. "The first thing that James noticed was a feeling of powerful angry energy as he stood outside the door. He finally went to sleep about two AM; later in the night, he woke up with sleep paralysis, feeling like something was on top of him, like he couldn't move."

Shane felt a prickle at the top of his spine, like someone was sitting on the bed behind him, watching. He blinked slowly, exhaling, and tried to keep his leg from bouncing nervously.

"James was able to break the sleep paralysis and go back to sleep—"

"Why didn't he leave?" Shane broke in, looking over at Ryan. "That seems like prime 'I'm outta here' territory for you Boogaras."

Ryan scoffed. "He's a professional! He's there to see what's going on! If he'd run at the first incident, no one would ever believe what he reported. Sleep paralysis? Big deal! You _know_ that's what you'd say, don't lie."

"Yeah, alright, that's fair. Guy's got balls. I respect that."

"Damn right you do." Ryan grinned. "Anyway. James woke up again a few hours later and saw a shadowy apparition sitting in a chair—" He looked over into the corner. "… Probably that chair, honestly. I doubt the layout of these rooms changes very often, if at all."

Shane looked at the chair. It was empty. _Thank God,_ he thought. "That's creepy as fuck, man, a ghost watching you sleep?"

"Shadow figures are pretty terrifying," Ryan agreed. "James said the entity watched him for about thirty minutes."

"Okay, I take back everything I said about this dude: not only does he have balls, but they are made of _steel_." Shane shook his head slowly, eyes wide. "That's crazy."

"Yup. After that thirty minutes, he said the apparition stood up, walked towards the bathroom, and disappeared."

"Christ. And he finished the night?"

"I don't have anything saying he didn't."

"Incredible. You gonna let yourself be outdone, Bergara?"

"Hell no!" Ryan exclaimed, laughing. "We're going to do what is considered possibly the dumbest thing to do in this room—"

"Oh this is gonna be good," Shane said, mockingly, though his stomach was beginning to sink, and the prickling at the back of his neck had _not_ gone away.

"There's a story of an anonymous hotel guest who asked to stay in this room," Ryan began, "who checked out at four in the morning after reporting all the electronics in the room were going _crazy_ : the coffeemaker turning itself on, the lights flashing, the TV turning itself on and off."

"Hard to sleep with that," Shane said.

"No kidding. Once she'd left, the hotel staff found a Ouija board in the room: apparently she tried to contact Clift directly."

"Oh man. Father Thomas told us very clearly not to do that, Ryan."

"He sure did," Ryan agreed.

"Have we ever listened?"

"Well," Ryan said, "I tried. You've been a reckless idiot since day one."

Shane gave the camera a huge grin. "And I'm not about to stop now! So where's the board?"

"Keen-eyed viewers may have already spotted it behind us on the bed," Ryan said with a mischievous grin. "Shall we get this party started, big guy?"

"Hell yeah," Shane said, standing up and offering Ryan a hand. They'd cut the next couple minutes out, giving the video a hard split between them chatting on the couch and doing the session with the board, but right now, Ryan needed a minute to get settled, they needed to switch camera positions, and Shane was going to light approximately a dozen candles. (Electric candles, of course, but the good kind, so you could hardly tell. Also, Ryan was going to defocus them in post. The magic of film.)

A couple minutes later, all was set: they were each perched on a corner of the bed, with the Ouija board between them. Shane was at the head of the bed, facing the chair in the corner; Ryan was opposite him. The room around them was dimly lit, with only the little electric tealights flickering in the background. Ryan's dark eyes were glinting in the faux candlelight and Shane was vaguely mesmerized by the effect. The prickling at the back of his neck had subsided while he was moving around, but now the whole room felt oppressive and hot despite the candles all being false, and the thermostat reading normal.

He took a deep breath and settled himself, then forced what he _hoped_ looked like a mischievous grin. "Ready to summon some spirits, ol' buddy ol' pal?"

"Yup," Ryan said, gamely, but he already looked spooked. He put the planchette on the board, and placed his hands on two corners; Shane met him there, and tried to ignore the little spark he felt at the brief brush of hands. Ryan took his own deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and met Shane's gaze. "Hello," he began, "we'd like to talk to Montgomery Clift, if you're there, sir?"

The room went from hot to cold in an instant, and Shane bit down hard on the inside of his lip to hide his reaction. Ryan didn't seem to notice: no flinching, no frown. "Mr Clift?" Shane said, "I hear you're a great fan of the trumpet. I really like your acting. Come chat with us?" _Please, for the love of God, be friendly,_ he thought. The room didn't get any warmer.

"If you're here, sir, would you please move the planchette to _yes_?" Ryan said, eyes still locked with Shane's. They waited a few seconds in silence, both holding their breath unconsciously, and then Shane felt the planchette begin to drift under his fingers, and he looked down at the same time as Ryan. "Are you doing that?" Ryan whispered. Shane couldn't answer. His tongue felt locked up. "Holy shit, I'm not doing that, please tell me you are."

"Idiomotor effect," Shane ground out, feeling like he had to push the words through his teeth as the planchette drifted to a stop over the word _yes_.

"Bullshit, man," Ryan replied, still in a whisper. Staring at the board, he said, "Hi, Mr Clift. We're sorry you haven't been able to get any rest. Why are you stuck here?"

As the planchette began to drift again, Shane caught something in his periphery. He just managed to avoid snapping his head up to look, and forced himself to wait until the board had spelled out " _n-i-c-e p-l-a-c-e"_ to look up at Ryan with what he hoped was a stronger smile than he was feeling. "He likes it here! That's not so bad." Over Ryan's shoulder, he could now see what had shown up in the background: the handsome man from the ballroom, sitting in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, elbows on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled. His hair was flawless, he was smiling lightly, and his eyes were still black holes. _God damn it,_ Shane thought, _God damn you to hell._ On the way up to the ninth floor, Shane had Googled Montgomery Clift – and sure enough, that was him.

He looked back at Ryan, hoping his glance over his friend's shoulder hadn't been too obvious. Ryan was pale, clearly shaken. "Ha," he said, weakly, "it is pretty nice. Not a bad place to spend the afterlife I guess. Um." He paused, looking at Shane. "What else should we ask? We know most of the stuff people usually ask spirits."

The apparition in the chair grinned. Shane felt sick to his stomach. "We could ask him why he messes with people so much," Shane suggested.

"Sure, that makes sense," Ryan said, and looked back down at the board. "Sir? Would you mind telling us why you mess with people so often? You cause a lot of trouble around here."

A few seconds of nothing, and then Shane saw the apparition tilt its head slightly as the planchette began to drift. " _G-o-o-d … p-u-b-l-i-c-i-t-y,_ " Shane read off, "Good publicity? Jesus Christ, sir. Have you got a deal with the management or something?"

Ryan laughed. "Yeah that's it. The continued success of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, ensured by deals with the supernatural."

"I'd prefer that to some of the shit that goes down in this town!" exclaimed Shane.

"You're not wrong, dude," Ryan agreed, "you are _not_ wrong."

"Oh, I've got a question," Shane said.

Ryan looked puzzled. "Uh, okay, sure."

Shane forced himself not to look directly at the figure in the chair. "Prove to me this isn't the idiomotor effect. Give us a word neither of us would ever think of, something that couldn't be explained by us wanting funny phrases for more views."

"Ohh," Ryan breathed, "that's _good_."

Shane couldn't smile. The planchette began to move. " _A-m-a-d-e-u-s._ "

Ryan frowned. "Amadeus? What? Like … Mozart?"

Shane's mouth had gone dry. He forced himself to swallow. "Yup. Didn't I ever tell you he was my favourite composer?" _Amadeus._ Fucking hell. Talk about pointed messages.

Ryan snorted. "Sure, dude, whatever."

Shane forced a grin. "Love me some Mozart. You think this is enough footage?"

Ryan thought for a second. "...Yeah, probably." He looked up at the ceiling. "Thanks, Mr Clift. We're gonna sleep here tonight … if you wouldn't mind, like, not paralyzing us, that'd be really awesome of you." They both gently moved the planchette to _goodbye_ , then released it. Shane couldn't help but notice the apparition _still sitting in the chair_. Clearly not attached to the board, then, though he had guessed as much.

Shane got off the bed, grabbing the board and planchette, and Ryan picked up one of the cameras from the bedside table. "I thought we were done with that one," Shane said, putting the board away.

Ryan looked up at him and shrugged. "Yeah, we're not gonna film with it any more, but I was thinking about... nah, it's silly."

Shane zipped up the gear bag and turned to face him. "Ryan, this whole show is silly. Spit it out."

Ryan pointed at him in mock offense. "How dare you, sir." He snickered. "I was thinking about watching the footage from our lock-ins. I really want to know if either of us picked anything up. I know you said you didn't hear anything, but I _swear to God_ TJ and I heard music, and if I didn't hear voices in mine I'm losing my mind."

Shane gestured vaguely with his hand. "Guests on the upper level, through the doors?"

"Could be," Ryan admitted, "though they sounded really close. I know, I know," he said, raising a hand to stop Shane's incoming interruption, "acoustic tricks. I just wanna hear it back."

Shane bit his lip, thinking, and chanced a glance at the figure in the corner. He was still just … _sitting_. And watching. He had been hoping to be the first one at the footage, to see how bad his was – how dangerous, how revealing – but the chance for Ryan to get even more freaked out before trying to sleep? Viewership _gold_. And Ryan knew it, too. He couldn't say no. "Yeah, alright, that sounds like fun." He reopened the gear bag and pulled out his Macbook, then sat down on the bed up against the headboard, keeping the figure firmly in his sights.

Ryan popped the back off the camera, took out the SD card, and handed it to Shane, who stuck it in the port, started up Premiere and loaded the clip. After a moment, Ryan's face, tinged in the green night-vision filter, popped up on the screen. Shane pulled out a pair of earbuds, plugged them in, put on in his ear and handed the other to Ryan before hitting play.

"Alright," comes Ryan's voice, slightly tinny in the earbud, "hello, I'm Ryan...if anyone's here, please say something – there's a really good microphone hanging over my head, even if I can't hear you now I'll hear you later." Silence for several seconds. "Is there anyone here? ...Are you guys...partying it up? ...I'm going to be quiet for thirty seconds, please say something." Shane counted down the seconds with the timer on the video. Ryan only made it to twenty.

"Okay...I'm going to turn my spirit box on now. You can use it to communicate with me." Ryan ducked his head slightly out of frame, and soon the unmistakable racket of the spirit box filled the audio. Ryan's next few questions were inaudible – they'd use the audio from his microphone here in the final cut. Apparently, though, Ryan heard something in the static, because he jumped and looked around.

Shane hit pause. "What did you ask?" he inquired, looking over at Ryan.

Ryan looked back at him. "I asked if they knew a little girl – I heard a yes – I asked what her name was, and heard Caroline."

"Hm. That's not fun." Shane looked back at the screen. "You got another minute in here. Did you hear anything else?"

"Yeah, I did," Ryan replied, "keep going."

Shane hit play again. A few more seconds of the spirit box, then Ryan shut it off. The audio levels readjusted, and Ryan's next words were audible. "Hello? Are you talking to me?"

The next words were very clearly not Ryan's voice, and though they weren't fully clear and could _possibly_ have been from another room, the sentence was obvious: "Yes. You asked me to."

"See? Right there," Ryan said, jabbing his finger at the screen. "It sounds like someone says, 'Says you, and me too.'"

Shane blinked. That...wasn't what it said. Did that mean... _Well,_ he thought, _at least that means it'll be easy to still pretend what Ryan heard is crap._ "That sounded like mumbling from the upper level, Ryan," he scoffed, "someone raising their voice a little and it distorted through the door."

"No way, man," Ryan said. "No fuckin' way. That was a voice. But if you're so cocky, let's put yours in. I swear we heard music."

Shane shook his head. "I didn't hear anything," he said, but he queued up his own footage from the same card. He watched, the footage identical to his memory – still a little strange watching his own face on camera, it never felt familiar – right up until when he remembered the vision starting. At that point, there was a split second of him looking very startled, and then the footage just went berserk, the video glitching out like a VHS that's been taped over too many times, the audio cutting to static _except_ the very faint sounds of ... piano and strings? It was hard to hear, _very_ hard to hear amidst all the static, it really _could_ just be a trick of the ear, but judging by the way Ryan had gone stock-still beside him ...

"That's it," Ryan murmured, "that's the music we heard. You can't tell me you don't hear anything."

Shane weighed his options. Say no, and almost certainly be proven wrong when they enhanced the audio? Wouldn't fly. Then Ryan would label it an EVP without a doubt. "Yeah, I hear it now," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I didn't hear it then. It must have been from outside, that's why it's so faint on the mic, and why you and Teej heard it and I didn't." He shakes his head. "Shame about the video though. I must have bumped something, dislodged a cable..."

Ryan looked at him askance. "You never do that."

He shrugged. "First time for everything. I think I tripped, there, or something? Slipped on the carpet maybe? I don't remember for sure, but I could have caught a cable and not realized it."

Ryan was quiet, thinking. "I mean, I guess..." he muttered. "Wonder what the other cameras show."

Shane nodded. "Yeah, there's gonna be some good stuff here for the episode for sure," he agreed, "and if nothing else we can totally make that glitchy clip go viral."

Ryan laughed. "Could make it a false ending in the episode, even. That frame of you tripping, then the glitching out, then cut to black— amazing."

"Precisely. And then we record scratch back to a shot of us at the desk or something." Shane closed Premiere, handed the SD card back to Ryan, and went to put the laptop away. "Anything else you wanna do?"

Ryan, putting the memory card back in the camera, mulled the question over. "I dunno. It's not super late yet. We could just start working on the footage."

"You sure? Montgomery likes to mess with the electronics, remember? What if he decides to get _spooky_?" Shane asked, raising his eyebrows at Ryan.

"Ha! That's a fair point, actually, I don't wanna chance anything... Why don't we just go get a drink?"

"Oh, now you're speaking my language."

* * *

A couple hours and a couple beers later, both men were headed back up to their room. Shane was a little tipsier than he'd like to admit – the nerves were getting to him, so he hadn't eaten enough or had enough water to really balance out the alcohol. Even as they'd left the room, whatever it was that looked like Montgomery Clift had stayed seated in the chair, watching them...and Shane was pretty sure he'd spotted the man in the corner of the bar, too, but he couldn't tell if it was actually him, or the alcohol, or just paranoia. The prickling in his spine and the deep, dark background energy hadn't abated in the slightest over the past two hours, either, and Shane was beginning to feel absolutely exhausted.

Ryan, on the other hand, was his usual buzzed self: a little gregarious, a little obnoxious, very outgoing, and a lot of fun if you weren't nursing the beginnings of a migraine. He was humming the Unsolved theme to himself as Shane pushed him down the hallway, and Shane was pretty sure if he could walk (Ryan was _tired_ ), he'd be doing the weird little dance thing they'd done that one night in the hotel room.

Suddenly, though, just as they exited the elevator on the ninth floor, Ryan froze. "Did you hear that," he asked, his voice the kind of serious that Shane knew preceded panic.

"Hear what?" Shane said. He hadn't heard anything at all, apart from the elevator doors.

"Someone said hello, right in my ear," Ryan said, turning around in his chair to look at Shane. "It wasn't you?"

Shane frowned. "Dude, I think you're imagining things. How many beers did you have?"

"Not _that_ many!" Ryan huffed, and turned back around. "You swear you didn't hear anything? God _damn_ it, the one time I'm not recording..." He jumped, and swiveled around again. "Shane, you _ass,_ quit _messing with me_."

Shane backed up a step, lifting his hands. "I'm not doing anything, Ryan, I swear to God. What did you hear this time?"

"I heard... someone said 'welcome back'. It's a man's voice. It's like it's right in my ear. Fuck this place, holy shit." Ryan was beginning to look terrified.

Shane walked around Ryan's chair and knelt down. "Hey. It's gonna be okay. I think your mind is playing tricks on you."

"Shut up, Shane, I know what I'm hearing!" Ryan exclaimed, glaring at him.

"No, no, that's— that's not what I meant," Shane said, lifting his hands again. "I'm not saying you're not hearing things. And I get that it's freaky. Dude, I'd be freaked out too. All I'm saying is that I'm not hearing what you're hearing."

Ryan locked onto Shane's gaze, and Shane could see him trying to get control of his breathing. "It could still be a ghost," he said, hints of exasperation still in his tone.

"It totally could," Shane agreed. "No argument here. Except that ghosts aren't real, of course." He grinned.

Ryan laughed nervously. "We should get some sleep."

Shane stood up and went back to pushing the chair. "Yes, that we should." He opened the door to room 928, pushed Ryan in and around the corner—

And the handsome man was still there, sitting in the chair, as if he'd never left. Shane swore internally and glared at him; the man passively stared back.

They went through the motions of getting ready for bed, Ryan finding more and more things to do besides go to sleep (and getting more and more anxious despite Shane's best attempts at calming him down). At twenty after one, Shane, now nursing what was promising to be a killer migraine, yawned and said, "Well Ryan, I don't think you can put it off any longer."

"I can put this off as long as I like, big man," Ryan replied, not looking at him, scrolling through his Instagram feed.

Shane snorted. "I don't think so, buddy. You gotta sleep."

"Nope. Not happening. Not after that fucking voice in the hallway, man. Not a chance. I am going to be up all night." He snapped his head over to the darkest corner of the room, like he'd seen something – but not to the corner where the man in the suit sat, watching the pair quietly, arms folded over his chest, eyes dark, tiny smile on his face.  
  
"And what would your doctor say about that, Ryan, it's not healthy."

"Oh shut up, Shane." Ryan huffed, turned over in the bed, and put his phone on the nightstand. "Yeah, you're right. I gotta at least try to sleep. I'm fucking exhausted, and my stomach hurts like _hell_."

Shane frowned and leaned over. "You okay? Do you need anything?"

"Nah," Ryan replied, "I took a few painkillers a bit ago, they'll kick in soon. I think I just overexerted myself today ... longest day of work I've had since the accident."

"Alright, if you're sure. Whatever you need, you let me know, yeah?" Shane reached out to put his hand on his friend's shoulder, then stopped himself. The weird warmth in his gut had shown up again. It all felt ... too familiar, and extra weird given the apparition in the corner still staring at them.

"Yeah, of course," Ryan said, beginning to sound sleepy. "Thanks for helping, Shane... I really appreciate it." He turned slightly, and gave Shane a soft smile.

The warmth in his stomach flared, and Shane swallowed. "No problem, Ry. You know I've always got your back."

"I do," Ryan said, and turned back over. In seconds, his breathing had leveled out, and Shane thought that might be a record for Ryan falling asleep in haunted places.

Shane closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sinking into the energy-space. He really needed a good word for it. The astral plane? Wherever the fuck he was. He could see Ryan's starlight form next to him, but everything else was still shrouded in that misty veil that had shown up in the ballroom – except for the man in the corner, who looked the same inside the veil and out. That wasn't what he was there for, though: instead of giving the apparition the time of day, Shane silently reached out with his mind and summoned golden threads of light into existence, weaving them around Ryan's shining presence carefully. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but the basic thought was "anything or anyone but me touches this man and they will be fucking destroyed with every inch of the power of God until I wake up tomorrow morning, so help me oh Christ our Saviour and our Redeemer forever and ever a _men_ ", so Shane thought it was probably a decent bet the gambit would work.

Ryan safely cocooned in golden light, Shane came back up out of the _astral plane –_ God, that sounded pretentious – and turned to face the handsome man in the corner, finally addressing the black-eyed bastard:

"Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want?"

All the electronics in the room flickered once, twice— and then died entirely.


	15. Nemini Credo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter. kicked. my ass.

Shane sat on the bed in the darkness, next to Ryan's softly breathing form, staring at the handsome man with the black eyes sitting on the chair in the corner. As the electronics in the room had gone out – the thermostat, the minibar and the minifridge, the smoke alarm, the emergency light in the hallway – so, too, had their cameras, despite being unconnected to the room's circuitry. This was very fortunate for him, Shane thought, because otherwise he would have had a _lot_ of footage to explain.

The man in the corner still hadn't answered him. Shane knew he couldn't do anything to this guy without a name – if indeed he was a demon, which he certainly suspected he was, given he was acting nothing like Caroline and a _lot_ like Molly – but, well, he didn't know yet. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the man in the corner unsteepled his fingers, put his hands in his lap, and looked at Shane with a small smirk. "I'm here to make you a deal."

Shane scoffs. "Not bloody likely. Tell me your name. No way in hell are you actually Montgomery Clift."

The man waves a hand nonchalantly. "No, I'm not Mr Clift. Just a convenient form to take."

"Did you steal his soul?" Shane accused.

He laughed. "Mr Clift left a shadow here from his time, as do many people, but I have been here far longer than that. I need no such base sustenance as _souls_." He stopped himself, tilted his head, and looked at Shane curiously. "You _are_ a strange one. Easy to talk to. It's all making sense."

"Speak for yourself!" He was feeling less and less sure of his footing, and more and more frustrated. "What are you? What is your name?"

"So many questions!" the man exclaimed. "Goodness me. So inquisitive. Fine, fine." He snapped his fingers and a lit cigarette appeared in his hand. He took a puff. Shane noticed there was no scent. "You can call me Loki."

Shane took a deep breath, organizing the banishing words in his head, but Loki raised a hand. "Don't bother with that," he said. "I know what you're doing, and it won't work."

Shane glared. "Wanna bet?"

Loki shrugged. "I doubt you want to be making bets with me: I tend to win them. I'm not here to fight you. I'm not even here to hurt you. Honestly, I'm not interested: I'm quite fine here."

Shane hissed in exasperation. "Then why are you here? Why bother with all this? Is it seriously just fun? Are you some sort of trickster demon?"

Loki laughed. "I tell you to call me Loki, and you ask me if I'm a trickster demon. You are _fascinating_ , beloved one."

"Don't call me that," Shane said, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "Do _not_ call me that." He felt the rush of warmth flow through him, and Loki recoiled _ever_ so slightly.

" _Well_ then," he said, "if that's how you feel, then I shall _not_ call you by your name."

Shane seized the moment, shifting forward onto his knees, moving forward on the bed, shoving the golden warmth at the man in front of him. "I command you, Loki, to get the fuck out of here – in the name of the Most High God, _return to the depths of hell and—_ "

Loki laughed, interrupting him. "I told you, don't bother. I've been here longer than humans have been on the continent. One demon hunter trying to _banish me_ is hardly going to work."

Shane felt bile rise in his throat. He was _angry_. How dare this— this _demon_ — just _ignore him_ , a servant of the Lord? (And in the back of his mind, he felt fear growing. Loki obviously wasn't really this guy's name. Otherwise that should have worked. Or ... or it _was_ his name, and Shane... just wasn't powerful enough.)

Loki shifted forward in the chair, leaning his elbows on his knees, staring Shane down with his black eyes. "You can't banish me, little baby warrior. But you don't need to. I told you: I'm not interested in fighting you. I'm here to make you a deal." Shane opened his mouth to speak, and Loki raised a hand again. "No. We're done conversing. What do I do here? I enjoy myself. I keep the hotel in business. It's so much fun to play with you little ghost hunters. And today's my lucky day, because _you_ showed up."

Somehow, his gaze became sharper, and Shane felt like a butterfly pinned under glass. "We know who you are. We've been watching you for a while, b—" He bit his lip, sighed, and carried on. "We don't _really_ like you much. For one, I've got a friend who'd really like his bridge back." He narrowed his eyes.

Shane glared. "You're not getting the fucking bridge back." Good Lord, did he actually take the bridge from an actual demon? Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

"You've proven to be a bit of a thorn in our side," Loki continued, almost as if Shane hadn't spoken, "and I _don't_ much appreciate you slipping little Caroline out from under my nose. I'm willing to let you go _this_ time ... but I'd suggest not getting too cocky, dear heart."

Shane bristled. "Caroline is happily at rest now, so you can fuck _right_ off. Just what the hell were you doing with her anyway— and where's her brother?" he demanded.

Loki heaved a real sigh this time, looking for all the world like Shane was boring him to tears. "You just do not shut up, do you?" He shook his head. "Use your brain, dear heart, what do you think I use them for? I'm _happy_ here. They leave _shadows_. I particularly _like_ shadows." He pointed to his eyes. "Are we done? Can I offer you this lovely deal that you keep interrupting?"

Shane growled, deep in his throat, and then jerked his head down in a nod. "Fine."

Loki grinned: a deeply unsettling grin, his teeth too white and too pearly, there weren't too many of them and they weren't sharp but they just looked _wrong_. It was a caricature of a grin. "Excellent." He leaned forward, and Shane felt again like a butterfly pinned to a board with the intensity of his stare – which made no sense, he didn't really have eyes, how could he even tell that the demon was staring at him at _all_ — "We'd like to offer you a deal _far_ better than the one you're currently getting." He waved his hand at Ryan; Shane instinctively tensed and moved as if to shield him. "No, no, calm down. It was for rhetorical effect. Lucifer's _beard,_ you humans are jumpy. Anyway. You work for the man upstairs, and your friend gets to stay alive. Have you thought about what happens when you die? I'd be surprised if you had."

Shane had, in fact, spent more than one sleepless night staring at Ryan's ceiling and fretting himself sick about what would happen if he didn't keep up his end of the bargain. But Loki didn't need to know that.

"You don't know the full terms of your deal, is what I'm saying. Few mortals do, when they make deals with the divine. We're very good with words, you see. It's been a bit of a _thing_ , as it were, throughout history." Loki looked at his nails idly, then back at Shane. "Beelzebub knows I've taken advantage of it more than once myself. But see here—" he pointed at Shane— "you've got wits, you've got determination, you've got chutzpah. You're clever, for a human. I'll let you in on a little secret... upstairs, they don't like that much. They prefer their soldiers mindless. Just do what you're told. Everything's need-to-know. And I'm betting you're pretty low on that need-to-know list: I'm sure there's been untold numbers of things that just _would have been nice to know_. Am I right?"

Shane didn't answer, grinding his teeth together. He _was_ right. There _were_ a lot. If he started listing them now, he'd run out of fingers within the first breath.

Loki's grin gleamed. "That's what I thought. You're figuring this out as you go, and you're terrified, aren't you? There's a huge weight on your shoulders: you have to do this right, or you might lose your friend again. But they won't _tell_ you how to do it. Forget _dying:_ what happens when you inevitably just do something _wrong_? Because you will, and you know it. You're not infallible. It's just the nature of being mortal. So, you have to ask yourself ... how forgiving is the Almighty? How many chances are you going to get, before that deal is null and void?"

Shane realized he'd been worrying at the inside of his lower lip so much that it was starting to bleed. These were all good questions, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought of them. "All you're giving me so far is that I _might_ have a shitty deal – which I'm willing to consider. But you've yet to convince me that yours would be any better. I must say I like the idea of being a force for _good_ in the world more than the idea of being a force for _evil._ "

Loki's face brightened with cheerful incredulity. "What's the difference?"

Shane stared. "Seriously? That has got to be the dumbest thing I've ever heard. What's the difference between good and evil?"

"Yes! What _is_ the difference between good and evil? Let's hypothesize ... What's the difference between an angel and a demon? You know where we come from, don't you?"

Shane had the nasty, sinking feeling he was walking into a trap. "... You were angels. And now you're not."

"Because...?"

"Because ... you didn't like God?" He was grasping at straws, and wishing he'd done a little more research on this whole side of things. Most of his Googling had been things like identification and safety ...

Loki shrugged. "I suppose that's as good a way as any of putting it. There were differences of opinion. What's wrong with disagreeing with someone?"

Shane blinked. "I mean ... nothing, in theory. _But—_ " he lifted a hand, stopping Loki before he could interrupt, "there's a difference between disagreeing with someone _in general_ , and disagreeing with the beneficent creator of the universe."

Loki's grin turned shark-like. " _Well,_ then. Haven't _you_ swallowed that hook, line, and sinker. When did you become such an ardent believer, be—" his voice caught in his throat, and he growled softly. "Only a week ago, you believed precisely none of this."

"And then my friend died, and I made a deal to bring him back. A _lot_ of things have changed in the past week." He still felt unsettled. Loki seemed entirely too confident that he'd win this battle of wits, and Shane ... really couldn't prove him wrong. He just didn't _know enough_ , and there it was again...

"Certainly. I won't dispute that," Loki agreed, "but you're smart enough to know that you don't know everything. Why should you believe that what you know _now_ is the truth?"

Shane kept an uncomfortable silence.

"Mm hmm. Precisely." Loki waved a hand again. "So: the terms we would offer you are—"

"Who's 'we'?" Shane blurted out.

Loki blinked. "The folks _down_ stairs, as it were. We don't function _quite_ the same way as the stuffy hierarchy in the clouds – I'm authorized by the high council to offer you a _much better_ deal."

Shane crossed his arms and nodded. It wasn't much of an answer, but he doubted he'd be able to get more.

" _Anyway_. The deal would be this: continued existence and guardianship of your, and your friend's, souls, under the protection of our forces. In return, you work for us – advance _our_ side of the war. We'll provide you with any instruction and training you desire, as well as the tools necessary for easy communication with your representative at any time. And backup, of course, should you need it." Loki steepled his fingers, and watched Shane over their tips. "What do you say?"

Shane narrowed his eyes. "That's an awfully good deal for _me_. What's the catch? What's in it for you?"

"We gain a resourceful, clever, intelligent, and _determined_ warrior, who isn't afraid to ask questions."

"...I don't trust you."

"Good. You shouldn't." Loki leaned forward slightly. "It would be incredibly naive of a mortal to blindly trust an immortal."

"So then how do I know your deal is any better than the deal I've got?" Shane shook his head. "You could be lying to me."

"I could, you're right. But what's the benefit in that for me?"

"I don't know. I feel like you're holding back some of the terms of the deal."

"You can't agree to anything you don't know about."

"But you folks are _very_ good at words." Shane was getting bolder. "If you say something, and you know I'll interpret it _one_ way, but you actually mean it the _other_ way...then I'm screwed."

Loki inclined his head in acquiescence. "You are not incorrect. That would be dealing in bad faith, though."

"You're a _demon._ "

" _You're_ subscribing to outdated and biased stereotypes."

"You're not being specific enough. I don't even know your name."

"And I can't use yours."

This brought Shane up short. That was true. Every time Loki had attempted to say "beloved one", he'd been cut short. Which meant...which meant whatever powers Shane currently had were, at the least, powerful enough for _that_.

But ... would it really be so bad to make a deal with a demon? What was the difference? Angel or fallen angel, right? Who decided what morality was, anyway? And Loki _was_ right, he hadn't really been given any useful information about anything at all... _That_ was tempting.

... Was he really considering this? What would Ryan say, if he knew that Shane was seriously considering making a deal with a demon? He'd be appalled. _Especially_ seeing as the terms of the deal were _very_ suspect.

Shane shook his head. "Then I guess we're at an impasse. I can't trust you and therefore I don't trust your deal. Give me all the terms in writing, and _maybe_ I'll consider it. But for now – no deal."

Loki's smile didn't waver. "I knew you were smart. Very well. I'll have my people talk to your people, and we'll talk later. Have a good sleep." He winked out of existence, and the room returned to normal temperature – and all the electronics blinked back on.

Shane exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and felt a new rush of blood to his limbs. He hadn't expected Loki to give up so easily. That...bothered him, if he was being honest.  It bothered him deeply.  It meant Loki was coming back.

He laid back down on the bed, next to Ryan, and stared at the ceiling until morning. As the sun came up and Ryan began to stir beside him, he mused idly that this was probably the first filming of Unsolved where he hadn't slept a wink, and Ryan had slept like a baby.


	16. In Tempore Quiescis

The footage from overnight at the Hollywood Roosevelt was completely unaltered. The cameras had indeed died when Loki had shown up, but apparently their whole conversation had taken place in the space of only a couple minutes – easily explainable as a brief power outage.  Caroline didn’t show up, there were no strange glitches, no extra EVPs … but even Shane had to admit, working in the voice-over booth with Ryan a couple days later, the ballroom sessions were spooky as fuck, especially on the good headphones instead of the little earbuds they’d used in the hotel room.  It was hard to tell, and could have been passed off as music from elsewhere, but there was definitely music in TJ and Ryan’s feed from outside in the hallway while Shane was inside; similarly, Ryan’s footage from inside the ballroom was … bizarre, at best. 

“I take back what I said earlier about it being someone on a different level, Ryan.  So many of those just sound like air on the sensitive mics.  You can’t possibly be telling me they sound like _voices_ to you,” Shane said, scoffing, taking one headphone off to better hear his co-host. 

“Are you serious?  You have to be shitting me.  You don’t hear it?” Ryan had his standard mix of indignation and surprise on his face. 

Now, if Shane had been sworn to tell the truth, he would have had to tell Ryan that yes, he did hear what Ryan was calling “voices”.  It definitely sounded like whispers on the wind, but … if he were still being honest, he couldn’t tell if it was the power of suggestion, or actual words.  He rolled his eyes.  “It’s drafts, or it’s someone speaking outside a door.”

“Did you feel drafts in there?” Ryan changed tacks.  “I don’t remember feeling any drafts at all.  It was pretty damn still.”

Shane cracked a grin.  “Even on a standard shoot, I’ve got six inches on you, buddy.  Those ‘how’s the weather up there’ jokes aren’t _all_ bullshit, you know.  And this time I was standing at _least_ two feet above you.  Just because you didn’t hear or feel the drafts doesn’t mean they didn’t exist.”  Shane was very careful not to actually say whether or not he’d felt or heard any drafts – because, well, he’d been too busy being distracted by the vision, or whatever it was.

Luckily for him, Ryan took the bait of the short joke, instead of cluing into Shane not having actually answered the question.  “You son of a bitch, you’re going to mock my height when I’m recovering from a serious injury?  Jackass.” 

He still had that wonderful warmth in his eyes, so Shane wasn’t concerned that Ryan was actually offended.  … Then he caught himself thinking about Ryan’s eyes as “wonderfully warm”, and blinked, and mentally shook himself.  “I only have this extra height for a while, I gotta make use of it!” he said, grinning.  “Wouldn’t you?”

Ryan snorted and rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, y’know, I probably would.  Let’s do your footage now, from the other cameras – hopefully you didn’t pull _all_ the cords out at the same time.”

Shane bit his lower lip, watching the monitor nervously.  He hadn’t had time to check all these himself; he’d focused on looking at all the feeds from the overnight session, because those would be the most incriminating.  Loki hadn’t shown up on any of those, so he had no reason to believe he would show up in the ballroom footage, but Shane himself would – and he knew he’d look panicked.  Might even sound panicked.  He couldn’t remember now, if he’d said anything at the time.  “Ha ha,” he laughed, a little weakly, “wouldn’t that just be the worst.”

Ryan was tapping at the keyboard.  “I dunno – if all the video feeds show the same glitches, then we do some tests with pulling on the cords during recording and see what they do … and if they don’t do anything, then we have a bona fide electronics failure, possibly supernaturally caused.”

Shane snorted.  “That _is so_ not how the burden of proof works.”

“It’s a valid experiment, man.  We’d find _some_ thing out.”  Just then, the feed from Shane’s over-the-shoulder cam popped up on the screen.  It was mainly dark, as the ballroom was so big – the night-vision filters just had nothing to pick up on whatsoever.  He heard himself talking, taunting whoever was in the room, then inviting them to speak as he went quiet.  This was when Loki had shown up the first time, and unless Shane was very much mistaken, the demon would have been right in the sightline of this camera. 

The feed skipped a frame.  It was barely noticeable, and honestly it was something that happened with semi-regular frequency with the night-vision footage.  The codecs just didn’t have anything to _show_.  But, if he’d been counting right, that was precisely the moment Loki had shown up.  What if all the other times the footage had skipped a frame were _also_ times when ghosts or demons had shown up, and this just meant they couldn’t be seen?

Shane started talking again, in the footage.  That meant he was backing up, staring at Loki, and the vision would happen in a few seconds… sure enough, the feed royally glitched out, in precisely the same way that the other feed had.  _Fuck_ , Shane thought, _fuck fuck fuck_.   He’d been desperately hoping for the other sets of footage to display only black rooms and the sound of his feet shuffling. 

“Well then,” Ryan said, sounding far too pleased with himself, “looks like we have some equipment testing to do.”

Shane just sighed.

* * *

The episode came together without any more trouble after that.  Ryan started doing tests with the equipment Shane had been wearing, and they discovered that a strong electric field would create the distortions they’d seen in the footage.  Shane did a little bit of research, very Scully-style, and showed Ryan that high-voltage lines could cause fields of that sort – and that the Hollywood Roosevelt ballroom happened to _have_ some high-voltage lines running through the floor, for high-powered musical acts and heavy spotlights and so on.  He couldn’t get a floor plan detailed enough to show where the lines were, which meant Ryan was still very skeptical of Shane’s mundane explanation, but it was enough for the episode. 

While all this was continuing, Ryan started physical therapy: three times a week, he got a Lyft across town to a clinic where he did stretches and some minor physical activity to help the healing of his abdominal muscles and connective tissue.  The physiotherapist also got him on a nutritional guide and asked if he had anyone to help him with the cooking: Ryan had immediately texted Shane and asked if he’d mind sticking around a little longer to help; Shane had, of course, said yes, trying resolutely to ignore the leap of joy his stomach did at the prospect of staying longer with Ryan. 

Ryan’s apartment was beginning to feel more and more like home with every passing day, and Shane was more familiar with Ryan’s habits than he’d ever been.  He had already known how Ryan took his coffee, for example, but now he knew his step-by-step morning routine and also that Ryan was absolutely horrible at doing laundry.  One day, when Shane came up from switching the laundry, he found Ryan sitting on the couch, peering at his phone with a bemused face.

“What’s up?” Shane asked, sitting down beside him, beginning to fold the laundry.  “You look highly puzzled.”

“I just found a weird Tumblr post,” Ryan said, still staring at his phone.

“Uh oh,” Shane replied, smirking, “those are always dangerous.  Need some brain bleach?”

“No, not one of those,” Ryan said.  “I have _all_ those tags blocked.  No, someone’s noticed something weird in my Instagram posts recently.”

“Oh?” Shane asked, frowning and pulling his own phone out.  “Like what?  Your face?”

“Very funny.  Apparently there’s someone in all my photos lately, like a weird figure in the back.”

“Oh, shit, that could be real bad.”  Shane opened Instagram and went to Ryan’s profile.  “Stalker, maybe?  Do we need to call the cops?”

“Maybe?” Ryan still sounded bemused more than anything.  “This guy looks like basically any white dude, though, so it could just be a weird coincidence.  It’s only been in the past couple weeks.  The thing is, I’m looking at my photos now, and he’s not … there?  But he’s clearly in the screenshots in this Tumblr post.  Is someone just fucking with my photos?”

Shane was way ahead of him, clicking through Ryan’s pictures from the past couple weeks.  Most of them were in high-traffic places, plenty of people in the background.  It took him four or five pictures to start picking out the person who was in all of them – and, if Shane didn’t know that face, he would have said exactly what Ryan had: just another white guy, no big deal.  Instead, Shane felt his stomach drop, and he only just stopped himself from immediately looking around the room.  The figure in the background of almost all Ryan’s pictures was a white man of average height, with well-coiffed dark hair and a handsome face.  You could never quite see the guy’s eyes, he was always turned slightly, but the resemblance was uncanny: Montgomery Clift.  Or, clearly, Loki. 

Shane rubbed his hand over his face.  “I mean, I see white dudes in the background of these photos, sure.  Maybe someone’s just messing with you, making some weird fan-edit content like they do with me and the whole demon-Shane thing.  It’s probably harmless.”

“You think so?”  Ryan sounded worried.  Shane couldn’t blame him: he was worried sick already, and didn’t believe a word of what he was saying to Ryan.

“Yeah,” Shane said, as confidently as he could.  “But let’s be smart and keep an eye out, yeah?  If someone starts actually showing up, we’ll call the cops.  And if the fans start getting extra weird, we can always ask them to tone it down.  They’re all pretty chill.”  He reached over and put his hand on Ryan’s knee, looking into his eyes reassuringly.  “Don’t worry, man.  We’ll figure it out.  It’ll be okay.”

Ryan chewed on his lower lip, and looked off to the side.  “Okay.  If you say so.”  He sighed and looked up at the ceiling.  “Man, I never thought we’d have to think about _stalkers_.  This is bananas.”

Shane shrugged.  “Honestly, I’d prefer us having to deal with it than, say, any of our co-workers of the female persuasion.”

Ryan nodded.  “Yeah, that’s fair.  We can take it on the chin a bit.”

Shane scrolled through his own photos as Ryan went back to doing whatever he was doing on his phone.  It was almost undoubtedly Loki, and this was undoubtedly a message being sent.   Shane couldn’t find him in any of _his_ photos, so … definitely watching Ryan, then.  He sighed, gently, put his phone down, and went back to folding laundry.  He really needed to work out a way to protect Ryan outside of the apartment.

* * *

Shane kept a close eye on Ryan’s Instagram posts after that, and also – as much as he really didn’t want to – he started tracking Ryan’s tag on Tumblr.  He needed to know what other people were seeing.  Sure enough, Loki was showing up in almost all of Ryan’s pictures, and the screenshots were coming from multiple users.  This wasn’t someone just editing the posts and somehow hacking them into Ryan’s account (in such a way that the hacked photos didn’t show up if Ryan was looking at them?  yeah, right): Loki was following Ryan.

They were working on a desk case that week, a few weeks into Ryan’s physical therapy.  Most of the locations they’d scoped out weren’t super accessible, so they’d rearranged the filming schedule a bit and told the fans that due to Ryan’s health, they’d need to push back the season a little.  Naturally, the fans were very understanding; in fact, they’d already had to film a livestream of them opening a bunch of get-well-soon presents from fans.  Ryan was equipped with a glut of soups and cookies and comfortable pillows and everything under the sun.  

Shane had received a gift, too.  A small box, postmarked from northern California, addressed in gorgeous copperplate handwriting.  Inside, he’d found a pendant, a simple wooden piece polished to a dark shine.  A note was enclosed, which read, “Been keeping up to date as much as I can.  I see who’s watching you; I know all this is complex.  This might help. – ח”  Shane didn’t recognize the signature; it looked a little like a lower-case N, but the tail was too long.  The pendant looked like a flower, sort of, or a hand, with an eye in the palm.  Some clever Googling revealed it to be a _hamsa_ , an amulet that was supposed to protect the wearer against the evil eye – and the signature was the Hebrew letter Het, which was often transliterated to “Ch”.  Perhaps a gift from Chaverim?

“Well,” Shane murmured, in the quiet apartment as Ryan was making cocoa in the kitchen, the little box open in his lap, “I guess that works as well as anything else.”  He sank into his mind’s eye – best to check if the necklace had any traces of anything nasty.  A piece of wood, no matter how you carved it, wasn’t inherently good any more than it could be inherently evil.

The pendant glowed a calm blue in the astral plane, and seemed to be emitting faint tendrils of light that stopped about an inch off the pendant, creating a small bubble.  It felt like calm waves, and Shane thought he could hear the gentle crashing of water on a shore.  That seemed pretty safe to him.

“What’s that?” came Ryan’s voice from the kitchen doorway, startling Shane.  He looked up, and was momentarily blinded by Ryan’s ever-present brightness before he blinked himself back into the real world. 

“Oh, uh…” Shane paused.  How was he going to do this without it being weird?  “I …”  Oh, to hell with it.  He’d been dancing around this long enough.  “I, uh, got you something.”

“Oh?” Ryan came over to the couch and sat down.  He could walk most of the day now, if he were at home or at the office and could sit the rest of the time.  The wheelchair only came out for long trips, or if Ryan didn’t sleep well, or if he’d strained himself a little too much.  The doctors were saying he’d only need it for another week or so: he was healing really well.

“Yeah,” Shane said.  _In for a penny, in for a pound…_   “I just … I dunno, I saw this online and it seemed like something you might wear, so.”  He held out the pendant.  “I hope you like it.”

Ryan took the necklace – the pendant hung on a soft leather cord – and turned it over in his hand.  “Wow, this is really nice,” he said, “great craftsmanship.  Does it mean something?”

“Uh, yeah,” Shane replied, grabbing the little card.  “It’s a _hamsa_.  They show up in a lot of Middle Eastern cultures, they’re supposed to be protection from the evil eye or something like that.  I just thought it was pretty, and kinda your style.”

“Huh.”  Ryan put the necklace on.  “Thanks, man.  You’re right – it’s totally my style.  I really like it.  And now I can be double protected from ghosts and demons, right?”  He smiled at Shane, and Shane felt his heart melt.  There was no getting around it anymore – he was falling for Ryan, and falling hard.  God _damn_ it.


	17. Pater Noster

Shane spent his next Saturday in a church.

This was … not a sentence he ever expected to utter in his life, except for, like, on-location shoots.

And yet here he was, sitting in an empty pew at St Mary of the Angels, staring at the high altar, his elbows on the pew in front of him and his chin resting on his forearms. He’d told Ryan he needed to go home and get some stuff, which wasn’t a lie; said stuff was now in Ryan’s car, parked outside. But he’d been feeling more and more uneasy over the last couple of weeks, and needed a place to think.

He closed his eyes and shifted position, his forehead now on his arms. He had no idea what he was doing. He hadn’t seen anything else since the Hollywood Roosevelt – they’d wrapped their last desk case of the season yesterday, and they weren’t scheduled to fly out to the next location shoot for a week. Ryan was doing well: the wheelchair had been entirely retired, and he was moving around without any pain. Still not his usual energetic self, but far, far closer.

Loki was still showing up in every one of Ryan’s Instagram posts – though, only Shane seemed to notice them nine out of ten times; the Internet was convinced Ryan was pranking them, and Ryan more or less believed it was just a weird coincidence. (Shane knew Ryan was secretly still unnerved by it, but didn’t think he could admit that to Shane, because Shane didn’t believe in weird shit like that, right? If only Ryan knew.) Shane knew better, of course, but he still hadn’t received any sort of message from the demon regarding the ‘other deal’ he was supposed to be offering.

Of course, in three weeks’ time they were flying to the Seattle Demon House, so. Could just be waiting for a convenient place and time.

Shane would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t scared. Up until Molly’s house, of course, he would have dismissed every piece of footage and every personal testimony from the Seattle Demon House as a huge load of baloney with a chaser of hogwash. But now? Now, he had a deep and nagging dread tugging at his heart. This was _the_ demon episode this season. Ryan was already terrified, and they hadn’t even finalized their flights. Shane had bought a whole extra passel of SD cards in case he needed to doctor footage, and he’d watched far too many hours of advanced video editing tutorials on YouTube. He was prepared for sleepless nights; he wasn’t prepared for an all-out battle for Ryan’s soul.

“Mind if I join you?” The voice was male, and off to his right: Shane lifted his head and looked up to find a middle-aged man wearing all black with the exception of his collar square, which was a starched white.

Shane shrugged vaguely, gesturing to the rest of the pew beside him with a shake of his head. “Be my guest,” he said.

The priest sat down, putting his hands in his lap. He was quiet a moment, looking forward at the statues near the altar, then he looked back at Shane. “Whatever’s on your mind,” he said, “I’m happy to listen.”

Shane sighed softly, staring at a candlestick. “I don’t know, Father,” he replied. “It’s pretty far out there.”

“That’s fine,” the priest said, “no judgment here.”

Shane took a couple deep breaths. He closed his eyes, sank into the astral plane: the church was bathed in the calm blues and golden yellows he’d long since learned to associate with the forces of the Almighty. The man beside him was a warm blue silhouette with a glowing white soul-star at his core: nothing to fear, unless demons had gotten extra tricky lately. Worst-case scenario, this man would think he was crazy, which was no great loss. So Shane opened his mouth to say, _I have to sleep and film in a demon-infested house, and I need to know how to banish the fuckers without it showing up on camera while protecting my best friend’s soul,_ but instead, he heard himself say, “I think I’m in love with my best friend,” and then he started crying, and the golden warmth surged in his chest and the tears became great shuddering sobs, and _then_ his damn tongue went and said “and I have to protect him or else he’ll die again but I don’t know how and I’m terrified of losing him,” and he gave up, buried his face in his hands, and wept.

It felt like he cried for an eternity, his shoulders shaking, his hands slick with tears. He vaguely felt the priest put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t hear him say anything. At last, when Shane’s tear ducts decided to stop flooding Mount Giant Nose, and his breathing calmed, he heard the man say quietly, “I must admit, son, I have a few questions… but: I am so sorry you are feeling such deep pain. You are carrying a heavy burden. If there is any way I can share that load, even for a moment, I am here.”

“…Thank you,” Shane said, his voice thick. “Honestly, I just … there’s no one I can _talk_ to.”

The priest hummed softly. “I am familiar with that feeling. May I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Shane replied, “hit me.” He felt exhausted, and still hadn’t taken his head out of his hands.

“Are you a praying man?”

The question was simple, and Shane knew that the priest was probably just asking so he knew what sort of tactics might comfort Shane the most – he didn’t seem the type to evangelize when someone was crying their eyes out in his church. But he still felt his old staunchly non-religious self bare its hackles, so tired of the hypocrisy, the assumptions, the hate, and so he took a long breath before answering, “I’m… I never have been, but…” Much to his surprise, his voice cracked, and he started crying again. “It’s all so _different_ now,” he managed to say, and he felt the priest pat his shoulder gently.

“Do you want to tell me how it’s different?”

Shane didn’t know where to start. _I was visited by an angel?_   _I bargained for my friend’s soul and now I’m some sort of divine peon?_   _I’ve been charged to protect humanity from demons?_   God, each one sounded more ridiculous than the last. This man would absolutely have him committed. Was that a thing priests could do? “…Do you believe in demons?” he finally asked. If it went south, he could spin it as a ‘personal demons’ thing.

The priest didn’t answer for a moment. “… I believe in many things that could be called demons, yes.”

So much for _that_ plan. “Like… the guys with nasty horns and tails, steal your soul and eat it for breakfast, those kind of guys?” Shane couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. He was sure that on top of the flush from all the crying, he was now red as a tomato from embarrassment.

The other man actually chuckled a little. “Well, I’m not sure they look like that, and I don’t know that they eat souls for breakfast – but theologically speaking, yes, I personally believe in the existence of evil and its powers and principalities.” He paused. “I have to say, I’m surprised a man who proclaims himself ‘not a praying man’ would ask that sort of thing. Are…you in danger, child?”

The question, spoken with the weight of true sincerity and complete belief, made Shane feel as if his heart had cracked in two. “I… oh God,” he said, “God, _yes_ , we all are, all the time, and I— I can’t—”

The priest exhaled slowly, and Shane felt his hand leave his shoulder. Shane was about to protest, to say he’d made it all up, no, please don’t leave, when the priest said, softly, “ _Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen._ “

Shane felt the golden warmth swell between his ribs, and he looked up in surprise at the other man, who was…who was just praying. He’d bowed his head, and put his hands in his lap, and he looked up to meet Shane’s gaze as he stopped speaking. “What was that?” Shane asked. “What did you say?”

The priest looked a little puzzled, but smiled. “An _Our Father_ ,” he said, “but in Latin. I find the familiar words help to calm me when I am in turmoil. And, if I am not mistaken, this is a conversation for which I do not wish to be in turmoil.”

“Can you teach me?” Shane knew what the Lord’s Prayer was, at least, kind of. But he’d never heard it in Latin before, and… Well, he didn’t know what the words meant, but that had been the closest he’d felt anyone else come to spinning the golden threads, and good God, he’d take what he could get. “Please?”

The priest now looked _very_ puzzled. “Certainly, I can give you a copy of the prayer. Son, I—” he frowned, and stopped himself. “May I ask your name? Mine is Father Harland.”

“Shane,” he replied. “Shane Madej. Shane’s fine.”

Father Harland nodded. “Shane. Nice to meet you, though I imagine you’d prefer it under better circumstances.” Shane shrugged agreement. “Shane, it’s not every day I find someone in my church inquiring about the powers of hell, asking for copies of Latin prayers, and _not_ hauling along cameras with so many attachments they look like Christmas trees, or ridiculously incorrect superstitious notions about black cats and crystals.”

Shane couldn’t help himself: he laughed. It was a teary laugh, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “I know the type,” he said, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Oh my God, do I know the type.”

The priest smiled, but turned serious again. “So it is with absolute solemnity that I ask you again: are you in danger? Have you dabbled in something which has, for lack of a better word, gone very sideways?”

Shane sighed heavily and leaned back against the pew. “That’s one way of putting it, I guess. Am I in imminent danger? I don’t think so. But my entire world’s been turned upside down, and I just… I didn’t know any better, and now I really, _really_ do, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“What happened?” Father Harland was watching Shane levelly, no trace of disbelief, no glib catchphrases.

Shane took a deep breath. “My friend died.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“And then I made a deal for his soul.”

Father Harland didn’t say anything for a moment, still watching Shane. Finally, as Shane stared right back at him, he asked, “With whom?”

_Moment of truth,_ Shane thought. “I’m told his name was Raquel.”

“…What were the terms of the deal?”

Shane swallowed. “That I would…serve. I would be … a defender. An avenger.” He remembered the words of the angel as if they had been seared into his mind. For all he knew, they might well _have_ been.

**_YOU WILL BRING LIGHT TO THE DARKNESS. THE POWER OF THE MOST HIGH WILL BE GRANTED UNTO YOU. THE POWERS AND PRINCIPALITIES OF HELL WILL TREMBLE BEFORE YOU, AND YOU WILL CAST THEM OUT. YOU WILL SHELTER THE OUTCAST AND NOURISH THE DOWNTRODDEN. YOU WILL BE AN INSTRUMENT OF GOD._ **

Shane finished reciting what the angel had said, and it was like he could see clearly again, though he couldn’t remember _not_ being able to see. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He blinked, and looked at Father Harland, who had tilted his head slightly, and who was still watching Shane carefully.

“Um,” Shane said, awkwardly. “That’s… I mean, I know it sounds pretty crazy, but…”

Father Harland shook his head slowly, then lifted his eyebrows and adjusted his glasses. “Blessed are they who did not see, and yet believed.” He rubbed his hands together, then clasped them. “Shane, I do not know the purpose for which the Lord has brought you to my doorstep on this day, but… I believe you. And as a servant of the Almighty, I will do my utmost to help you.”

Shane’s breath left him in a whoosh of relief. “Thank God,” he said. “I was so afraid you’d have me committed or something.”

The priest chuckled. “At once all the prison doors flew open, and everyone’s chains came loose,” he muttered, smiling. “I somehow doubt they could have held you, if I had.”

“I dunno,” Shane said, “they’re all very legalistic. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened to me lately.”

“I have a feeling I will be learning just as much from you, as you will from me,” Father Harland said.

Shane shrugged. “Maybe. I feel like I’m starting from zero.”

“Amen.”

“Can we start with the prayer you said?”

“Of course. Are you likely to start glowing again once you read it?”

“ _What?"_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Bellator Luminis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196262) by [istie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/istie/pseuds/istie)




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